


In My Time of Dying

by reedyas



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/M, Slurs, season 1 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reedyas/pseuds/reedyas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hospitals have never been Beth’s friend. From the hours she spent as an anemic eight year old waiting in the ER to crumbling by her dead mother’s bedside ten years later, she’s always hated them. The wallpaper was always too cheery, the linoleum scuffed to the point of being too clean. </p><p>So when she wakes on a hospital bed with a heavy drumming sensation in her skull, she finds herself in a muddled state of confusion.</p><p>Or, Beth wakes up after the world has ended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. days gone bye

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man. Here we go *cracks knuckles*
> 
> This fic is based off of[this gifset](http://reedyas.tumblr.com/post/111351769186/bethyl-au-8-lead-me-home-zombie) I made a few months ago. I've always thought the concept of Beth and Daryl knowing each other/being together before the apocalypse as interesting, and what better way to explore it than through fan fiction?
> 
> Just some background - Beth is about 20 in this fic. Maggie is 22, and the rest of the ages haven't changed. The geography of/shooting locations in Georgia are weird, so I've taken some artistic liberties in that aspect. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything copyrighted, including characters, details from the show, anything aired on AMC, etc. The rest of the content is mine.

Hospitals have never been Beth’s friend. From the hours she spent as an anemic eight year old waiting in the ER to crumbling by her dead mother’s bedside ten years later, she’s always hated them. The wallpaper was always too cheery, the linoleum scuffed to the point of being too clean.

So when she wakes on a hospital bed with a heavy drumming sensation in her skull, she finds herself in a muddled state of confusion. She blinks away the bleariness and the crusts in the corners of her eyes. The ceiling above her seems to look down on her blankly, the white panels almost grey in the dim light. Her tongue is heavy as it runs over her dry, cracked lips. An overwhelming thirst makes itself clear, causing her throat to feel as if it’s filled with scalding, swollen lumps.

She flings her arms to the side of the bed and grips onto the cold metal railing. Her limbs are shaky and weak as she tries to pull herself up. The plaster cast on her wrist doesn’t help. After several failed attempts, she flops down onto the pillow, defeated. “Nurse!” she cries, voice hoarse and crackly. _“Nurse!”_

Her chest tightens and tears threaten to spill. What kind of hospital is this? She thinks, glancing down at the IV needle in her arm. Carefully, she pulls the needle out and tears off the other tubes attached to her arms. Gritting her teeth, she turns her body onto her right side. The cards on the bedside table stand still among the dried flower petals that lay around. Beth grasps at the vase that holds a handful of withered daisies. She rips the flowers out and brings the dusty glass to her lips, choking down the acrid water. It tastes disgusting, but the searing pain in her throat dulls.

Her elbow wobbles as she slowly pushes herself up. With a white-knuckle grip on the IV pole, Beth edges herself off of the bed, attempting to balance on her weakened legs. Her knees are coltish, weak and unsteady in an effort to carry her across the room. They fail, and she topples over, groaning from the fall.

She inches her way over to a nurse’s station by the door. Rummaging through the cabinets, she finds a few bottles of water, sterile equipment, and a set of light polyester scrubs.

She gulps down the water with a vigor that almost makes her puke. With a belly heavy with liquid, she tugs the scrubs on, eager to cover her almost-naked self.

The linoleum is cold under her feet as she steps into the hallway. The hospital is a mess. Papers litter the floor. Holes and scorch marks have been etched into the walls. The florescent lights flicker, the dim light threatening to burn out.

Beth inhales deeply and treads lightly down the hall. The air is stale and musty in her lungs, she wants to cough but her instinct tells her to stay quiet.

The silence of the hospital breaks when a door clicks open and a man pushes a gurney away from the doorway. His eyes are wild and frantic as they sweep from the floor to the ceiling. “Nurse! Help!” he croaks when his blue eyes meet hers.

She shakes her head. “I’m not a nurse,” she replies. “I don’t know how I got here.”

“What the hell is going on?” the man asks in a harsh whisper.

“I don’t know!” Beth runs a hand through her greasy blonde hair. Her fingers come across a large scar with irritated stitching over her forehead. “I don’t even know what this is!”

He doesn’t even seem to register her words as he hobbles down the hallway. Beth follows after him, the adrenaline coursing through her veins taking her headache away. The man reaches a desk and immediately picks up the phone. “Line’s dead,” he mutters after throwing it down and rummaging through the pencils and paper.

Beth walks towards a door to another hallway. The bright light flickers as she peers through the double pane glass. Her eyebrows furrow and her stomach churns at the sight of what’s lying in the middle of the hall. “Oh my,” she murmurs, feeling lightheaded and swaying as she leans against the wall.

The Thing in the hallway isn’t alive. It has a human head, but everything below is a mess of carnage and gore. Beth can’t tear her eyes away from the horror of the corpse so plainly lying in the hallway. Its intestines lay parallel to its limbs. It looks as if something came and deliberately fed upon the body.

The man comes up behind her and is quiet as he looks at the corpse. “Come on,” he says, his voice shaken and weak. “We have to get out of here.”

Beth follows him away from the corpse. The corridor is worse than the one they came from, blood pools under doorways and more bullet holes decorate the walls. Wires that have been ripped from the walls hang down above their heads. This hospital isn’t a haven anymore – it’s a jungle, and Beth can feel the eyes of the unknown staring into them.

Broken glass threatens to puncture the soles of Beth’s feet as they reach the end of the hallway. An overwhelming sense of unease encompasses her as she reads the words DON’T OPEN DEAD INSIDE spray painted on the double doors. Banging from the other side increases, and the chain and board entwined around the handles rattle. She grabs the man’s wrist in fear as the creatures behind the doors start to thump harder, the doors opening slightly with each push.

White, dead fingers reach for them from between the cracks. A scream bubbles in Beth’s throat. She barely bites it back.

The man twists his wrist and grabs her forearm. He pulls her into an awkward jog away from the dead. He presses the elevator buttons as quickly as he can, but, like the phone, nothing happens. He grabs at the fire exit, pulls them inside, and shuts the door.

He lights a match from the pack in his hand, the weak light creating ominous shadows in the complete darkness. He lights another one for himself and whispers, “Come on.”

The stench in the stairwell is faint at first, and strengthens with each step. At the bottom of the staircase, Beth fumbles for the door and manages to push it open. Sunlight floods her vision, temporarily blinding her. She bursts out into the open, gasping for a breath that wasn’t filled with stale air. She blinks furiously, attempting to get her pupils adjusted to the bright morning light.

She follows the limping man in front of her down the stairs, covering her nose with her cast. Beth forces herself to look down at the bloodied sheets next to her feet. Matted hair and rotted skin peek out from under the ropes and linens. Watery bile roils in her stomach to erupt up through her esophagus as she walks through the cemetery. Flies buzz around her ankles, feasting on the dead.

There are hundreds – if not thousands – of corpses piled up on top of each other. A graveyard without tombs. A morgue overpopulated. Beth’s knees threaten to buckle underneath her.

Flashes of ice cubes on her mother’s eyes race through her mind. She can feel tears well in her ducts as she allows an all-encompassing pain to pass through her. Obviously something terrible had happened, and she didn’t know if she wanted to find out what. She thumbs the scar on her wrist, the skin numb and smooth under her touch. It would be so easy just to grab a piece of glass and allow herself to escape the horror of whatever these people went through.

She can’t do that though. Not when there was a possibility of her sister, Maggie, somewhere out there. Or her Daddy. Or Daryl - _her Daryl_.

_Christ._

Pain blossoms in her chest when she realizes how lost she truly is.

If this is hell, she made it out. These are the gates, and she can choose to crumble here or walk out and face this new world.

She takes one step forward, then another. She crosses threshold away from the hospital and follows the man up the hill. The grass is cool and slippery under her feet, her calves ache with each step.

Helicopters, military vehicles, and even more debris litter parking lot on the top of the hill. It’s as if everyone dropped what they were doing and ran. By the looks of it, they probably did.

“I don’t think I got your name,” she says softly, glancing up at the bewildered man next to her. “I’m Beth Greene.”

He nods distractedly as his eyes sweep the lot. “I’m Rick Grimes,” he says through his teeth, wincing as he clutches the bandage on his side. “I need to go. Try and find my wife and son.”

Beth nods. That seems like a good place to start. She follows him away from the hospital, careful not to let her mind sink back to the hole it was.

…

They don’t encounter anything on the road. Rick lives in a suburb close to the hospital where the houses are dark and the playgrounds silent. Her family’s farm is on the opposite side of the county, and she hopes they can head there next.

She learns that he was a sheriff's deputy, and that he vaguely remembers getting shot while on call. When he asks what happened to her, she can't remember everything. She just knows it was dark, then blinding, then dark again. They don't talk much after that.

In the meantime, the sidewalk scrapes the soles of her feet as she walks next to Rick. Beth keeps her eyes trained on her pale, bony feet, careful to not step on anything harmful. She doesn’t pay any attention to Rick, who is just as quiet as she.

Until he gasps. Beth’s head shoots up and she lets out a quick shriek before covering her mouth with her hands.

A half-eaten corpse lay on the grass, its head lifting up at their approach. Its skin is blotchy and rotting, its lips are gone, leaving only yellow teeth gnashing at them. Its eyes are cloudy and dead as it grasps towards them.

Beth wonders if she and Rick had left hell when they left the hospital, or had just ventured further into it.

She doesn’t register Rick pulling her away from the creature until they are halfway down the block. They continue in silence.

…

Beth follows Rick up to a white house with a large shaded porch. The front door is swinging open and like the other houses, it’s quiet.

“Lori,” Rick calls, flinging the screen door open. “Lori!” he shouts as he begins searching through the house. “Carl!”

She can’t bring herself to step into the house. If Lori and Carl are in there, she doesn’t want to break the intimacy of the reunion. But as Rick’s screams of anguish get more intense, she knows they’re nowhere to be found.

Leaning up against the paneling of the house, she sinks down and curls up in a ball. She puts her head between her knees and breathes slowly. What if they make it to the farm, and the only living things there are the mice underneath the floorboards? What if she’s doomed to wander these empty Georgia streets until her bones can’t take her any further?

_Is this real?_

_Am I here?_

Yes, she answers silently. Her lips mouth lines from a poem almost forgotten.

_This is the way the world ends_

_Not with a bang but a whimper._

Beth watches Rick stagger out of the house and plop down on the front steps. Pulling her legs to her chest, she rests her chin on the top of her knees. The loneliness she feels in her bones is overwhelming.

Rick turns his head and she looks to see what he’s staring at. A man shuffles down the street, his feet dragging rhythmically against the concrete. Beth furrows her eyebrows. He doesn’t seem to see them at all, or notice the awful emptiness around them.

He raises his hand in a greeting, and a wave of dread splashes over Beth. Something isn’t right. It’s too quiet, this stranger is mechanical in a way. She’s too focused on the man to even notice the young boy with a shovel approaching Rick. He swings, and the shovel hits Rick’s face with a loud TWANG!

“Hey!” Beth shouts, shooting up from her perch and hobbling down the steps.

“Daddy!” he yells, alternating between hovering over the man nervously and looking towards her.

“Carl… Carl I found you…” Rick murmurs hazily.

“Daddy, I got this son’bitch! Imma smack him down!” the young boy screams, wielding the shovel like a bat as Beth approaches.

A man strides over to Rick’s yard, shooting the mechanical stranger on the way. Beth’s eyes widen and she screams, covering her mouth simultaneously. “Did he say something? I thought I heard him,” the man rushes. “And you!” He whips his head towards Beth. “Are you bit?”

“What?” she asks, eyebrows raising in confusion.

He raises the gun. “Simple question. Are you bit? Is he bit?!”

Beth raises her arms. They can’t stop shaking. “No! I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

His gaze pierces her and he looks down at the man, panting. “Hey mister, what’s that bandage for?”

“Wha-What?” Rick questions, his voice slurring.

“What kind of wound?” the man points the gun towards Rick’s head. “You answer me, damn you. What’s your wound?”

“He was shot!” Beth cuts in as Rick loses consciousness. “He was shot and we both woke up in a hospital not too long ago. What the hell is going on?!”

He lowers his gun, his gaze shooting up to Beth. “You really don’t know?”

She shakes her head and begins to lower her arms slowly and shakily. “I woke up today. He did too. He wanted to look for his family, so we came here. That’s all I know.”

His look is piercing and his hand twitches over the gun. “C’mon. Let’s get him inside and we’ll have a nice, long talk.”

Beth rushes over to Rick and snakes one arm under his shoulder, while the man takes the other. He leads them to an abandoned two story a few houses down from Rick’s place.

The boy opens the door for them, eyeing Beth warily. They carry Rick upstairs and gently lay him on the bed.

“Now, you’re sure he’s not bit?” the man probes, his voice rough and hard.

“Unless he was bit before today, yes, I’m sure he hasn’t been bit in the time I’ve been with him.”

“And how long is that?”

“Since this morning.”

He gives her another long, harsh stare. “Alright. And you really don’t know what’s going on?”

Beth shakes her head.

He sighs and runs a hand over the short hairs on his head. “My name is Morgan. My son is Duane. Are you thirsty?”

“Very,” she replies, her throat suddenly burning. She follows Morgan downstairs to the kitchen. Her heart is still racing from seeing him so nonchalant about shooting that stranger down. “That man,” she starts, “you shot him. In plain daylight.”

“Weren’t no man!” Duane exclaims. Morgan shoots him a stern look. “It wasn’t a man,” he corrects.

“Then what was it?”

“That,” Morgan says, placing a bottle of water in front of her, “was a walker.”

“A walker?” she furrows her eyebrows. “I don’t understand.”

“You’ve seen the dead people, right?”

“Yeah. The yard outside of the hospital looked like a graveyard. It was horrible.” Her stomach churns at the memory.

“Not the ones they put down, the ones they didn’t.” Morgan nods his head towards the covered windows. “Like the one I shot out there.”

“How-?” she stammers, the pounding in her head increasing.

“It starts off with a bite. Then the fever kills you, and sooner or later you come back. That man out there,” Morgan gestures towards the window, “he’d of ripped into the both of you. Would’ve been a real decent meal for him.”

Beth feels slightly sick. “And they’re still out there? Now?”

He nods. “They don’t have minds of their own. They wander around constantly, and usually get all riled up as the sun goes down. As long as we’re quiet, we should be alright.”

She nods faintly, trying to concentrate on the wooden table under her fingertips.

“Well, Miss, if this is your first time hearing all of this, I guess it does sound crazy,” he continues.

“Unbelievable is more like it.” Beth exhales a long breath and downs the rest of her water. “I’m going to go check on Rick. See how his head’s doing. Do you have anything I can change his bandage with?”

“You a nurse?” Duane asks. “You sure look like one.”

She looks down at her scrubs. “Oh, no. My daddy’s a vet. I found these in the hospital and I opted for them over a gown,” she replies, shrugging.

“Why were you in the hospital?” he asks as Morgan rummages through a pile of first aid supplies in the corner.

“I don’t really know.”

_“I could never get tired of the stars out here,” Beth sighs, leaning up against a post on Daryl’s front porch, swirling a can of Coors Light in her hand. “We should take a walk!”_

_“Don’t know if I can move. I’m so full,” Daryl grunts from his faded, woven wooden seat. “Come here.”_

_She strides over to him and sits down on his lap, her cowboy boots dangling to one side. “Daryl Dixon, wilderness and tracking extraordinaire, doesn’t want to go for a night walk? That’s surprising,” she teases, her fingertips lightly tracing over his scalp._

_“Nah,” he hums. “I’d rather stay right here.” One arm tightens around her waist, the other on her thigh. Beth blushes as he places kisses along the juncture of her neck and her chin._

_“Please? Just to the end of the street?” she pushes, giggling at the sensation of his whiskers bristling on her neck. “It won’t take more than ten minutes.”_

_He pulls back and purses his lips teasingly. “Alright,” he relents. “Let me go grab my boots.”_

_Smiling widely, she kisses his lips hard and brief. “I’ll meet you down at the road!” She shoots up from his lap and walks down the stairs to the dirt trail that leads up to his porch. Beth breathes in deeply, the dawn of summer apparent in the air. She loves springtime, when the air is warm but not quite as sticky as it is in the summertime._

_The walk from Daryl’s cabin to the road is short. She stands on the pavement of the backwoods road, eyes towards the heavens. The stars twinkle and glimmer against the deep blue sky._

_She notices the headlights approaching her on the other side of the road. She doesn’t notice, however, how much they’re swerving between lanes._

_Beth tilts her head back down, only to see two bright lights speeding towards her._

_A searing pain, then fade to black._

Beth furrows her eyebrows. “I think I was hit by a car. But I’m not sure.” She shakes her head as if to rid herself of the confusing memory and takes the clean bandages and other supplies from Morgan’s outstretched hand. “Thank you. I’ll be down in a bit.” She starts to head up the stairs, then pauses. “I’m Beth, by the way.”

“Beth,” Morgan says, “pleasure to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances.”

She flashes him a tight smile and treads upstairs to tend to Rick. He’s still knocked out cold with his lips parted slightly and dried blood under his nose. She checks his pulse in his wrist, relieved to find him still breathing. A shovel to the face wasn’t likely to kill him, but his heartbeat was reassuring anyways.

Picking at the tape and peeling back the bandage on his side, Beth crinkles her nose. It doesn’t look infected, but it stinks and is in need of a thorough cleaning. After sanitizing her hands, she pours some saline solution into a bowl and wets a washcloth with it. She lightly cleans around the wound, washing away the pus and dirt and dried blood around the stitching. After wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she gently applies a clean bandage over it and tapes it to his side.

He’s still asleep when she finishes. Beth softly cleans up the blood under his nose before hanging the washcloth to dry. She leaves the door cracked halfway open and heads downstairs. “Is this your house?” she asks Morgan, who’s looking out the window with his hand on the handle of the shovel.

He shakes his head. “It was empty when we found it.”

There are more walkers shuffling outside than there were earlier. Beth gulps and squeezes her eyes shut. “Do you think the owners are coming back soon? Do you think they would mind if I borrowed some clothes?” she asked, her hesitancy apparent.

“Nah, they’re probably long gone by now,” he mutters, picking up a pair of binoculars. “I would check the master bedroom first.”

Beth nods. “Thanks.”

Morgan grunts in reply, resuming his vigilant watch.

She ends up finding some underwear, a sports bra that’s only a little big on her, a shrunken Rolling Stones tshirt, and jeans that are two sizes too big. Beth’s just thankful that the woman who lived here was only a bit bigger than she is. She tightens the jeans around her waist with a belt and pulls on a pair of socks. The sneakers she pulls out from the closet are a little too big, but she figures they’ll work for now.

She finds a few hair ties and bobby pins in the bathroom. Once her tangled, greasy blonde hair is out of her face and off her neck, Beth feels human again. Feeling more refreshed, she walks down the hall to Rick’s room. She plops down in an armchair in a corner and closes her eyes, allowing herself a few moments of rest.

Those few moments turn into an hour. She’s awoken from her vivid dreams by a hoarse voice calling her name. Her eyes flutter open and focus on Rick, who’s awake and attempting to sit up. “Whoa there,” she yawns, getting to her feet and grabbing a water bottle from the dresser. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Rick says after a few large gulps.

“I changed your bandage while you were out. It stank like something else.”

“Thank you, Beth.” His tone causes her to catch his eyes, which are undoubtedly sincere and honest.

Making a noncommittal noise, she shrugs and looks down. “Well, we’re kind of partners now, right? You’re a good guy, and as long as I’m with you, I got your back,” she states firmly, glancing back up at him. “Don’t know if you feel the same way about me, but I just wanted you to know.”

“I appreciate it. Same goes for me too.” He nods thoughtfully. “Is that man still down there?”

“Yeah, we’ve been talking. They’re good people,” she replies.

“He shot that man today.”

Beth bites her lip and glances towards the door. “He’ll do a better job explaining that than me. Come on, let’s get you downstairs.”

In the dimly lit dining room at the bottom of the stairs, Duane sits at the table while Morgan dishes out a small serving of baked beans. Beth doesn’t realize how hungry she is until her stomach curls inward at the scent of the sweet, syrupy beans.

They’re both ready to dig in when Duane interrupts, “Daddy? Blessing?”

Beth sets her fork down, slightly embarrassed. She rests her hand in Duane’s outstretched one and holds the other out to Rick. She bows her head and tries to ignore the gnawing emptiness in her stomach.

“Father we thank thee for this food, thy blessings. We ask you to watch over us in these crazy days. Amen,” Morgan says.

“Amen,” Beth murmurs and flashes a small smile at Duane. She picks up her fork and begins to shovel the food into her mouth. The taste is overwhelming at first, but then she realizes her last meal was that rabbit stew at Daryl’s who knows how long ago. Her heart pangs and tears well in her eyes. He would want her to keep eating, so she did.

“Hey mister, you even know what’s going on?” Morgan asks, eyeing Rick. “Beth was telling us how you found each other at the hospital today.”

Rick nods stiffly. “I woke up today. Came home, that’s all I know.” He pauses, furrowing his eyebrows. “You shot that man today.”

Morgan glances at Beth. “I take it you didn’t tell him?”

She looks up and shakes her head. “Figured you know more about it than I do.” She finishes her serving as Morgan explains to Rick what the walkers are. It’s still hard for her to wrap her head around it – dead people walking sounds like something out of a science fiction movie.

“One thing the both of you need to know,” Morgan says, glancing between the two, “don’t you get bit. Bites kill you. The fever burns you out. But then after a while, you come back.” He swallows and looks down, his eyes full of a deep, dark sadness.

“Seen it happen,” Duane cuts in, and Beth’s heart breaks. They finish dinner in silence.

…

“Carl? He your son?” Morgan asks quietly from the mattress in the middle of the room. Beth’s curled on the loveseat, in the Rolling Stones tshirt and a pair of black sweatpants. She tugs her blanket under her chin and allows herself to blink slowly. “You said his name today,” he continues.

“He’s a little younger than your boy,” Rick replies softly. The words stumble out of his mouth almost in a stutter. He sits up against the loveseat on the mattress from upstairs.

“And he’s with his mom?”

Rick lets out a weary sigh. “I hope so.”

“And what about you, Beth?”

“Hm?” she lifts her head and props herself up on her elbow.

“You got family out there?”

She nods. “My daddy lives on a farm on the other side of the county, my brother and sister live in Atlanta, and I have no clue where my boyfriend is. Probably somewhere in the middle of the woods,” she says, sighing. “I hope they’re together. I have no idea, though.”

“Daddy?” Duane pokes his head up from the pillow. “Didja ask him?”

Morgan huffs out a laugh. “Your gunshot – we got a little bet goin’. My boy says you’re a bankrobber,” he says with a light smile. Beth feels a grin tug onto her face.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Rick says. Beth can hear the smirk in his voice. “Deadly as Dillinger Kapow.” He huffs out a laughs and scoots back. “Sheriff’s Deputy.”

“Aha,” Morgan replies, allowing the conversation to die off.

A car alarm breaks the silence. Beth shoots up and looks towards the door. She faintly hears Morgan reassuring Duane in the background, but she can only focus on the heartbeat in her ears and the panic in her throat. The lights dim as she follows Rick and Morgan to the windows. She sneaks a peek out the window and her jaw drops at how many walkers had wandered over since the sun had set.

“The noise, won’t it bring more of them?” Rick asks, flipping more of the curtain back.

“Nothing we can do about it now. Just have to wait them out til morning.”

Duane edges himself close to the window and gasps. “She’s here.”

Morgan’s voice is tight. “Don’t look. Just stay away from the windows.”

The young boy wrenches himself away and rushes to the bed, sobbing and hiccupping into the pillow. Morgan follows quickly, offering him reassuring words of comfort and security. Beth peers out through the window and her eyes catch a woman with haunting eyes shuffling closer and closer to the house.

When Rick moves to the front door, she backs away from the window and shuts the curtains. She rolls her shoulders, her panic and anxiety having settled in on her upper back. She settles back down on the couch and brings her knees to her chest.

“She,” he pauses, “she died in that other room on that bed in there,” Morgan says, his voice wavering. “Nothing I could do about it. That fever – skin gave off a heat like a furnace.” His eyes dart from Rick to Beth and back again, then stare blankly at the blankets crumbled at the foot of the bed. “I should have put her down. I just didn’t have it in me.”

Beth blinks and buries her face into her knees, her tears wetting the dark cotton. Settling back down on to the couch, she curls into a ball and prays that nothing comes knocking.

…

“Now, you sure they’re dead?” Rick asks one more time, tightening and loosening his grip on a baseball bat. “I have to ask. At least one more time.”

“They dead. Except for something in the brain. That’s why it’s always gotta be the head,” Morgan replies quietly. Beth follows behind them, crossing her arms over her chest.

There’s a walker at the front of the lawn, sitting down against a fence post. He groans and staggers to his feet, the sounds coming from his mouth wet and garbled. Rick takes a deep breath, steps towards it, and swings. Again and again and again. Beth crinkles her nose, resisting the urge to vomit at the sound of wood repeatedly hitting rotting flesh.

The walker stills with a groan and Rick falls to his knees, curling inwards on himself and clutching his side. Beth winces.

“You alright?” Morgan asks over Rick’s strained panting.

“Need a moment,” he replies stiffly, breathing heavily throughout his nose. Once he’s recovered, he stands up and takes a deep breath. Beth knows it’s now or never.

“Can I try?” she asks quietly. When his eyes flicker down to her cast, she stammers, “It’s not even up to my knuckles. I can use my hand for the most part. If I’m gonna be out here, I want to know how to protect myself.”

Rick looks to Morgan, and then back at her. He nods. “Alright. Here.” He hands her the plastic face shield and the bat.

“There’s one up the street,” Duane says, pointing to a lone walker staggering next to a red car.

Beth pulls on the face shield and tests her grip on the bat as she strides over to the walker. She really wishes she didn’t have this plaster barrier on her dominant wrist, but it’s going to have to do.

The walker is a woman with short, dark hair. She stumbles towards Beth and reaches out a decaying arm. Beth sets the baseball bat like she’s about to hit a homerun, and swings. The bat hits the walker’s chin, causing her knees to buckle. Beth takes this chance to kick the woman down on the pavement. She grits her teeth and bashes the walker’s head over and over again, but it doesn’t want to die. Arms aching, she delivers one last swing that puts it out of its misery.

Beth pants and looks up towards Rick and Morgan, who look both amused and impressed. “You need to work on your strength,” says Morgan. “I like how you think, though.”

“Thanks,” she says, taking the shield off and wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Let’s go. I want to catch my breath before I have to take another one down,” she jokes weakly.

Rick leads them to his house. The door is wide open and the dead walker is sprawled on the lawn. “They’re alive, my wife and son,” he says, panting. “At least they were when they left.”

“How can you know?” Morgan asks, giving him a wary look. “By the look of this place-“

“I found empty drawers in the bedroom. They packed some clothes. Not a lot, but enough to travel.”

Morgan gives him an incredulous look. “You know that anyone could’ve broken in here and stolen clothes, right?”

“See the framed photos on the walls?” Rick gestures. “Neither do I. Some random thief take those too, you think?” He turns and opens up a small wardrobe door. “Our photo albums, family pictures, all gone.”

Beth glances over to see Morgan smiling, smiling as if the world hadn’t gone to shit. “Photo albums,” he says, eyes glazed over. He chuckles and sits down at the dining room table. “My wife,” he starts, “same thing. There I am, packing survival gear, and she’s packing photo albums.” He cuts himself off, hysteria bubbling in his voice. She glances down at her feet, feeling as if this moment is too intimate for her to be a part of.

“They’re in Atlanta I bet,” Duane says after a few moments of silence.

“That’s right,” Morgan nods, bringing himself together.

“Why there?” Rick asks.

“Refugee center. Huge one, they said before the broadcast stopped. Military protection, food shelter,” Morgan rambles. “They told people to go there, said it’d be safest.”

“Plus they got that disease place,” Duane cuts in.

“The Center for Disease Control,” Beth murmurs, looking up. “It makes sense. The government would want to protect the cities, especially the CDC.”

“Yep. Said they were working out how to cure this thing.”

Rick nods and walks to the kitchen. He comes back with a set of jingling keys.

…

Beth sits alone in the ladies’ locker room at the King County Sherriff’s Department. She towels off her hair, humming contentedly at the feel of clean hair. She smiles at Duane’s singing through the wall; the showers seem boost everyone’s moods.

She tugs through her tangled locks with a comb she found in a locker, wondering what her next move would be. She knows she wants to go to Atlanta with Rick, but leaving Morgan and Duane here doesn’t sit right with her. If the city is a safer place, they should come with them. However, they seem content here, and Beth isn’t going to rock the boat if she could help it.

Once her wet hair is knot-free, she tugs it back into a tight ponytail with the stretched elastic. She pulls on a clean, white tank top from an open locker and the jeans from Morgan’s house. Unable to find a pair of boots in her size, she slips the sneakers back on over a pair of clean socks. She stands and makes her way over to a mirror. The dark circles under her eyes are stark against her alabaster skin. The stitch on her forehead itches like hell and looks like it could be pulled out, but she doesn’t want to mess with it herself.

She thinks about Daryl. Wonders where he is. She imagines him in the woods, hunting, boots whispering against the forest floor. Raising his crossbow, taking aim, and pulling the trigger. Just like she had seen him do plenty of times before. Maybe he’s with Merle, maybe he’s at the farm. Her stomach sinks, a feeling of dread washes over her. She has no idea where he is. Where he could be. If he’s alive or one of –

She gasps. Shuts her eyes. Don’t think like that.

Beth stretches her arms above her head and exhales deeply. Opening her eyes, she stares at her reflection in the cracked mirror. She will go to Atlanta. Do the best she can. Go to the farm. Take it from there.

…

“You ever fire a gun before?” Rick asks, looking back at Beth as he leads them to the armory. He’s wearing his sheriff’s deputy uniform, the badges pinned to the lapels shiny under the fluorescent lights.

“A few times,” she says. “Not enough for me to feel comfortable with one, though.”

“Daddy, can I learn to shoot?” Duane asks, eyeing the artillery with a look of wonder and fear. “I’m old enough.”

“Hell yes you’re gonna learn,” Morgan replies, glancing back at his son. “We gotta do it carefully, teach you to respect the weapon.”

“That’s right. It’s not a toy. You pull the trigger you have to mean it. Always remember that, Duane,” Rick says, his voice stern and commanding.

“Yes sir.”

Hesitating, Beth picks up a 9mm pistol from the shelf. She turns it over in her palm to ensure the safety is on. The weight is heavy and unfamiliar in her hands. She gingerly hands it to Rick, who places it along with others in a large black duffel.

After they finish packing the weapons, they make their way out of the station and into the late morning sunlight. Beth shoulders a black backpack that’s filled with extra tank tops, a few pairs of clean underwear, and a bottle of water. She wishes she had a piece of paper and a pen so she could leave a thank you note for whoever’s clothing she took, but she silently prays for them instead.

“Watch your ammo, it goes faster than you think. Especially at target practice,” Rick says over his shoulder.

“Duane, take this to the car.” Morgan hands Duane a bag and stops next to Rick’s patrol car.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come along?” Rick asks, setting the bags down on the ground.

“A few more days,” Morgan replies, “By then Duane’ll know how to shoot and I won’t be so rusty.” He looks to Beth. “You sure you don’t wanna stay back? You’re more than welcome to.”

She gives him a tight smile. “I’m sure. I need to try and find my family.”

Rick reaches into the car and pulls out a walkie talkie, fiddling with the dials. “You got one battery. I’ll turn mine on for a few minutes every day at dawn. You get up there, that’s how you find us.”

“You think ahead,” Morgan remarks.

“Can’t afford not to. Not anymore.”

“Listen, one thing – they might not seem like much one at a time, but in a group all riled up and hungry, y’all best watch your ass.” His eyes flicker between Rick and Beth.

“You too,” Rick says and grasps Morgan’s hand in a farewell shake.

Beth turns to Duane and pulls him in for a hug. “You take care of your dad, alright?” she says quietly in his ear.

He nods. “I hope you find yours,” he replies.

Beth nods and swallows the ever-growing lump in her throat.

“You’re good people. I hope you find whoever you’re looking for,” Morgan says, his voice soft.

Beth pulls him in for a hug, keeping the embrace quick. “Stay safe, alright?”

“You too, Beth.”

“I’ll be seeing you, Duane.” Rick places a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Yes sir!”

The moment is interrupted by staggered footsteps and incessant growling. She turns to find a walker in a similar uniform to Rick’s approaching the wire fence.

“Leon Basset?” Rick murmurs, his eyebrows furrowing. “Didn’t think much of him. Careless and dumb but,” he lets out a ragged sigh, “can’t leave him like this.”

Beth winces when he hits the fence, the walker’s rotted fingers clawing through the diamonds in the wire.

“You know they’ll hear the shot,” Morgan warns. Beth takes a few steps back towards the passenger door of the patrol car.

“Let’s not be here when they show up.” Rick takes the revolver from his holster and strides over to the walker. As soon as she hears the shot, Beth opens the passenger door and  
climbs in. She winces when she hears it sinking slowly to the ground, her teeth clench and her eyes squeeze shut.

Rick reholsters the gun and jogs over to the car and climbs in as well. They follow Morgan’s Jeep out of the parking lot, turning on the siren as they turn left and the father and son turn right. Beth watches them drive away in the side mirror.

“I hope we’ll see them again soon,” she murmurs.

“I’m sure we will.”

“You know, this is my first time in a police car.”

Rick looks over at her and smirks. “I guess that’s a good thing.”

Beth smiles back at him. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Before we get on the road, I wanna make one stop,” he says, driving towards a neighborhood they had walked through yesterday.

She nods, and a few minutes later he parks the car next to the park where they had found the half eaten woman. Beth thinks she knows what he’s going to do, and is silently grateful for it.

They walk through the grass, the air humid and muggy. The walker is quite a ways away from where she was previously, having inched her way through the park by her nails.  
She crawls through a bright patch of grass, the sky as blue as can be above her. Instead of horror, sadness envelops Beth as they approach the walker. She allows a few tears to slip free as she stands back while Rick gets closer.

He crouches down next to her and stares down at the walker.

The walker stares back, its eyes dead and cloudy. It groans. Its bones crackle.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Rick says. As it reaches out to him, he pulls out his gun and shoots it through the forehead, his hand slightly shaking.

Beth approaches him and the corpse with a few yellow dandelions in hand. She kneels down, and delicately places them next to the walker’s head. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and placing the other on Rick’s shoulder, she murmurs, “Come on. Let’s go.”

He nods, distracted, and stands up. They walk back to the car in silence.

…

“How old is your son?” she asks once they get on the deserted country highway.

“Twelve,” he replies. “Growing like a weed.”

Beth’s lips quirk, happy to help relieve the tense energy in the car. “What’s his name?”

“Carl. Looks just like his mom, Lori.”

She smiles and tears her gaze away from the window. “Well, I can’t wait to meet them.”

“You sound so sure about that,” Rick says.

“Just trying to stay optimistic.” She shrugs and glances down at her hands, subconsciously running a thumb over the inside of her wrist. “Gotta in these days especially.”

He hums in agreement. “Your sister lives in Atlanta?”

“Yeah, she was finishing up her last semester at Georgia State when I last talked to her,” Beth says, focusing on not letting her voice waver. “Her name’s Maggie. I hope she’s with my daddy and my brother, Shawn.”

“And your boyfriend?” He glances over at her.

Beth shrugs one shoulder, her eyes furiously blinking back tears. “I hope he’s with them, but I’m not counting on it. He’s probably out in the woods somewhere. I don’t know. I can’t think about that right now.”

Rick nods. “You never know. Gotta stay positive, right?”

She quickly wipes a tear and nods weakly. “Right.”

He reaches over to the CB and picks up the walkie talkie attached. Holding down the button, he says, “This is the emergency channel. We’ll be approaching Atlanta on Highway 85. Anybody reads, please respond.” He pauses. “Hello. Hello. Can anybody hear my voice? Anybody? Anybody out there, please respond.”

He repeats the call a few more times, and Beth can’t hear anything but static. “Maybe someone will hear us when we get closer,” she says after numerous failed attempts.

“Maybe,” he replies. After a few moments of silence, the car sputters to a stop. “Aw shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Beth asks.

“Out of gas. I thought we could make it to a gas station up the road, but I was wrong.” He runs a hand over his face. “There’s a gas can in the truck. We’re gonna have to walk.”

Beth nods. “Alright, well, let’s get moving.” While Rick pops the trunk and gets his keys and a picture from the visor, she gets out of the car and swings her pack and a bag of ammunition over her shoulder. Rick grabs the can from the trunk and the duffel that’s filled with weapons.

Walking down the road is a hot and sticky affair. Beth doesn’t know how Rick isn’t dying of heat exhaustion in his pants and jacket. She does wish she has a hat like his, she can feel her pale complexion getting burnt in the bright afternoon sun.

They walk about a mile towards a farmhouse down the road. It’s quiet and still, the only noise being the screen door rattling in the light wind. “Hello?” Rick calls, setting down his bags. “Police officer out here. Can I borrow some gas?” he asks and heads towards the front door.

Beth walks around the property, looking around to see if anyone’s there. The weeds are overgrown and the paint on the wood paneling is chipping. Wind chimes jingle with the wind. She shivers. It feels too quiet. “Any luck?” she asks, rounding the corner.

Rick stumbles away from the front porch, his breathing heavy and irregular as he sits down on the bottom step.

“You alright?” Beth furrows her eyebrows, marching over to him.

“Don’t look in there,” he says, finality in his tone.

She nods and looks down. That explains the quiet.

While Rick gets up and moves to a parked truck in the driveway and rummages through it, Beth wanders over to a horse pen. A large, chestnut mare stands in the middle, huffing  
hot air through its nostrils, swinging its tail back and forth. She smiles, a flicker of hope erupting inside of her. “Hey Rick,” she calls, “you ever ride a horse before?”

“Not in a very long time,” he replies, walking towards her.

“Well you’re in luck!” she smiles. “I grew up on a farm, and I think I found our method of transportation.”

…

Beth’s back is aching from carrying the bag of guns by the time they reach the outskirts of the city. The freeway is deathly quiet, causing her to grip the sides of Rick’s shirt even harder. “Wow,” she murmurs, her voice breaking the silence.

Rick digs his heels into the horse’s sides. “C’mon.” The horse moves to a steady pace, its shoes clicking against the asphalt and echoing against the buildings.

“I don’t know if I like this,” she says when they begin to cross over into downtown. If the city was a safe place, where was the government? Why was it so quiet? Where was everybody? She can feel the horse get nervous underneath her.

“Let’s just check it out,” he replies and guides them further into the city.

The deeper in they get, the worse she feels. Debris covers the streets, from broken glass to totaled cars to crashed helicopters. Like the hospital, it’s as if everyone just upped and left the city without a second thought.

The horse neighs when they pass a bus with two walkers sitting inside. “Woah!” Rick kicks his heels in and encourages the horse to move into a trot as they stumble off the bus. “Steady, just a few, nothing we can’t outrun.”

They turn the corner to find crows picking at a corpse on top of a tank. Beth wrinkles her nose and whips her head in the other direction. She looks up towards the sky and furrows her eyebrows. “Hey. Check it out!”

A helicopter passes over them, the rhythmic fluttering of the propellers creating a whipping sound in her ears. Rick kicks the horse into a run. “Maybe it’s headed to the refugee center!”

When they reach the edge of the block, Beth feels her bowels turn to butter. Hundreds – if not thousands – of walkers stumble around on the street. All waiting for their next meal.

The horse bucks and Beth grabs onto Rick’s waist even tighter. As he turns the horse around, panic creeps up in her throat and claws at it with a strong grip. Her breathing turns shallow as they reach the end of the block, only to find more walkers on the other side.

They are trapped. Beth becomes acutely aware that she will more than likely die today.

Dead hands grasp at the horse and their legs. Her eyes are wild and frantic as they dart from side to side, her heart pounding in her throat. They tumble down as the walkers attack the horse, but not before he bucks Rick and Beth off. She hits the pavement with a groan, the bag falling next to her. A walker staggers towards her with outstretched arms, but she rolls away in time and crawls towards Rick. Walkers crowd around them, their teeth mashing and moaning.

She follows Rick under the tank, kicking away walkers that try to come after them. When he starts shooting at the corpses, she ducks, but knows his attempts are futile. They won’t stop coming, they are relentless, they are an endless flood of the undead.

In that moment, under the tank and surrounded by walkers, she misses Daryl. He’ll never know that she woke up. Or maybe he’s already dead, and soon she’ll join him in the great beyond.

She flips onto her back and begins to let herself go numb. Her eyes flicker upward to an open hatch at the bottom of the tank. “Rick!” she yells, desperately pulling herself up into  
the tank and crawling towards the side.

He follows quickly behind and closes the latch shut. She closes her eyes and pants, her breath coming in deep spurts. Adrenaline courses through her veins as she puts her hands over her face. “You bit?” she breathes, swallowing the urge to vomit.

“No,” Rick replies, voice wavering.

“Good. Me neither.”

He reaches over and grabs a gun from the dead soldier sitting next to him. Her stomach sinks as it starts to move, a low groan erupting in its throat. Rick fires his python and Beth lets out a sharp cry.

The ringing in her ears is dizzying, and for a moment she can see stars. She whimpers as the noise rattles her brain and her neck to their core. Shutting her eyes, Beth grits her teeth through the pain.

When she opens them, Rick is pulling the top hatch shut and backing away, his eyes wide and frantic. Walkers bang on the tank above them and Beth brings her knees to her chest. She lets herself go numb again, feeling more helpless than she ever had before.

She lifts her head when a radio crackles in the corner, its frequency wavering in and out.

“Hey you. Dumbasses. Yeah, you two in the tank. Cozy in there?”


	2. guts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything goes to hell in Atlanta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo chapter 2! With the fantastic responses to chapter 2, I just wanted to thank you for clicking on this fic and deciding to read the next part! 
> 
> I've updated the tags with characters and other warnings. For this chapter in particular, there's a trigger warning for canon typical violence and use of racial slurs. I don't condone the attitudes/beliefs of a certain character (I think you know who), but I decided not to censor him because I wanted to stay true to his character. With that said, I've kept the slurs to a minimum. 
> 
> I don't own anything copyrighted. The rest is mine. Enjoy!

“Hey! You alive in there?” the hushed voice on the radio urges, its voice crackling on the radio. Beth stares at the walkie talkie, jaw dropped and incredulous.

 

Banging his head on a pole, Rick winces and scrambles across the tank. “Hello? Hello?” he murmurs into the machine.

 

“There you are. You had me wondering.” The person on the other line sighs, sounding relieved.

 

“Where are you? Outside? Can you see us right now?” Rick asks, voice hushed. He breathes heavily and gestures to Beth to move closer. “There are two of us in here. Didn’t know the city was this bad.”

 

“Yeah, I can see you. You’re surrounded by walkers. That’s the bad news.”

 

“There’s good news?”

 

“…No.”

 

Beth curses under her breath, her heartbeat drumming in her ears as she wipes a sweaty palm on her jeans.

 

“Listen, whoever you are, I’m a little concerned in here,” Rick grinds out through his teeth.

 

“Oh man. You should see from over here. You’d be having a major freak out.”

 

Beth takes the radio from Rick’s shaking hand. “I don’t think this is the time to talk about our feelings. Is there anything we can do? Or are we just going to die in here?” she whispers angrily.

 

“All I can say is make a run for it,” the voice replies.

 

Beth pauses and glances at Rick. “That’s it? Make a run for it?”

 

“It’s not as dumb as it sounds. You got eyes on the outside here,” he reassures. “There’s one geek still up on the tank, but the others have climbed down and are at a feeding frenzy where the horse went down. You with me so far?”

 

“So far,” Rick says, taking back the radio.

 

“The street on the other side of the tank is less crowded. If you move now while they’re distracted, you stand a chance. Got ammo?”

 

“In the duffel bag I dropped out there. Can we get to it?” Beth asks into the radio.

 

“Forget the bag. It’s not an option. What do you have on you?”

 

“Hang on,” Rick says, grabbing the revolver and the pistol from the dead soldier. “You find anything over there?”

 

“No, just empty bullet shells,” she replies, eyes searching for anything useful at all. “Wait.” She crawls over to the corpse of the soldier and carefully grabs a grenade that sits on top of the shelf next to it. “This.” She holds it out to Rick, hand shaking as if it could explode any minute. 

 

He blinks at it, nods, and sticks it in his pocket. “Alright, there’s something,” he mutters and crawls back to the radio. “We got a Baretta with one clip. Fifteen rounds.”

 

“Make them count. Jump off the right side of the tank and keep going in that direction. There’s an alley up the street maybe fifty yards. Be there.”

 

“Hey, what’s your name?” Rick asks after a moment.

 

“Have you been listening? You’re running out of time!”

 

Rick grabs the Baretta and tosses Beth a shovel from the wall of the tank. “You ready?” he asks, hand on the opening to the top hatch.

 

“As I’ll ever be.” She tightens her grip on the handle of the shovel, cursing the plaster on her wrist again. Before he twists it open, she stops him with a hand on his arm. “Let me go first. Take out the ones on the top. You only have fifteen shots.”

 

He nods and backs away. Beth pushes the door open and stands up on wobbly legs. She swings the shovel at the walker closest to her, the side of the tool cutting just barely into its rotting flesh. She hurdles out of the tank and smacks the walker again, pushing it off the side of the tank.

 

Rick follows her over, scrambling and landing on the pavement. She jumps down after him, striking the walkers with the shovel and kicking them down to the ground. Gripping the shovel as tight as she can, she jogs after Rick, each gunshot echoing throughout the city.

 

His gun raised, he turns to aim at a creature emerging from the alleyway.

 

“Woah! Not dead!” a man with dark hair and almond shaped eyes cries, throwing his hands up. Beth recognizes his voice from the radio. “Come on, come on!” He sprints down the alley, leading them away from the walkers. Shouldering his backpack, he starts climbing up a fire escape latter that’s nailed to the wall. “What are you doing?! Come on!” he yells. Dropping her shovel, Beth follows him on his heels with Rick right behind her.

 

She hyperventilates when they reach the first landing two stories above the ground. Walkers crowd below, their arms upstretched towards them.

 

“Nice work there, Bonnie and Clyde. You come to run this place to the ground?” the man says, panting.

 

“Wasn’t our intention,” Rick replies.

 

“We had no idea it would be this bad,” Beth tries to explain, her attempts feeble.

 

“Yeah, well yeehaw or whatever. You’re both still dumbasses.”

 

“I’m Rick. This is Beth.” He holds out his hand. “Thanks.”

 

“Glenn,” he says, taking it and giving it a firm shake. “You’re welcome.”

 

“They can’t climb, can they?” Beth asks, peering down over the ledge.

 

“They’re slow. We need a get a move on.” Glenn grabs the second part of the ladder and looks up. It seems endless. Beth gulps, her tongue feeling dry and heavy. “Bright side, it’ll be the fall that kills us.” He shrugs and begins his climb. “I’m a glass half full kind of guy.”

 

She looks down at the walkers beneath them. Taking a deep breath, she follows the two men upwards and forbids herself from looking at death awaiting below.

 

Her arm with the cast aches when they make it to the top. Despite their exhaustion, they keep moving. Glenn leads them from building to building, leaping over obstacles and moving at a fast pace.

 

“You the one that barricaded the alley?” Rick asks.

 

“Someone did. Whoever did it was thinking, they knew not many geeks could get through,” Glenn replies

 

“Why’d you help us? Back at the tank?” she questions as he starts to climb down a ladder into a building.

 

“Call it foolish, naïve hope that if I’m ever that far up shit creek, somebody might do the same for me. Guess I’m a bigger dumbass than you are.”

 

“All the same, we appreciate it.” She lets Rick go down before her, and closes the latch shut when she starts her climb.

 

The ladder leads to a trashed office building. Beth and Rick follow Glenn out a fire escape door and down several flights of stairs. “Coming back,” he cries into a walkie talkie. “Got guests. Plus four geeks in the alley.”

 

They reach the bottom of the stairs to find two geeks ambling towards them. Beth jumps at the sound of a metal door slamming open. Two people emerge from the building across the alley, covered in body armor and wielding bats.

 

“Come on!” Glenn yells, running through the open door with Rick and Beth on his tails. “Let’s go!” Once they’re through the door, the strangers follow quickly and slam the door behind them.

 

Once the door shuts, Beth is slammed into a stack of cardboard boxes. “Son of a bitch, I’m gonna kill you!” a blonde woman hisses through her teeth, pointing a handgun between Rick’s eyes.

 

“Just chill out Andrea! Back off,” one of the men in armor says as he takes off his helmet.

 

“Come on, ease up,” a black woman with sharp features bites out.

 

“Ease up? Yeah, right. We’re dead because of these stupid assholes.” Her voice is venomous, her grip on the gun unwavering.

 

“Andrea!” the man says. “I said back. The hell. Off.”

 

Her eyes flicker between Beth and Rick, and at last she steps away and lowers the gun. Her breath comes in ragged pants. “We’re dead. All of us. Because of you.” She shakes her head, glaring at them with an unrecognizable rage.

 

Rick moves himself in front of Beth, who wishes she still had her shovel. “I don’t understand,” he says, stepping into a more protective position.

 

“Look.” The man grabs their upper arms and pushes them down a hallway. “We came into the city to scavenge supplies. You know what the key to scavenging is? Surviving. You know what the key to surviving is? Sneaking in and out. Tip toeing, not shooting up the street like it’s the OK Corrall.”

 

“Every geek from miles around heard you popping off rounds,” a black man says when they reach the front of the building.

 

“You just rang the dinner bell,” Andrea sighs.

 

“Get the picture now?”

 

Walkers bang on the outer glass doorway, piling up like ants over a piece of food. Their hands drag up and down the glass, the pounding relentless, glass cracking.

 

Grabbing Rick’s forearm, Beth backs away from the doors, eyes wide with fear.

 

“What the hell were you doing anyway?” asks Andrea, her voice tight and distraught.

 

“Trying to find the helicopter.” Rick looks down at his boots.

 

“Helicopter?” the black man glances at them, confused. “Man that’s crap. There was no helicopter.”

 

“You were just hallucinating, imagining things. It happens,” the woman tries to reason.

 

“I saw it too!” Beth grits through her teeth. “It was real! We thought it might lead to the refugee center.”

 

“The refugee center, they got biscuits waiting in the oven for us,” the woman scoffs.

 

“Hey, T-Dog,” the dark haired man says to the black man, “Can you turn on the CB and try and contact the others?”

 

“Others?” Rick questions. “Not at the refugee center?”

 

“I got no signal.” T-Dog huffs. “Maybe the roof?”

 

A gunshot echoes from above, rattling the hangers in the department store.

 

“Oh no, was that Dixon?” Andrea groans.

 

“Dixon?” Beth demands, whipping her head up. “Did you just say Dixon?” Another gunshot booms from above. “Oh my god,” she gasps, racing behind the dark haired man as he leads them to the roof.

 

“Dixon! Are you crazy?!” the man shouts, stomping across the roof. Beth’s jaw drops and a wave of uncertain relief washes over her.

 

“Merle Dixon!” she cries, feeling lightheaded. If Merle is around, then Daryl must be –

 

“Blondie!” he shouts, lowering his rifle and turning around, a grin forming wide on his face. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, we thought you was dead!”

 

“You know this guy?” Andrea turns to Beth, rolling her eyes. “Great.”

 

“Merle, put the rifle down, dammit! You’re bringing down more geeks on us!” the dark haired man says.

 

“Hey now! Y’all might want to be more polite to a man with a gun!” the elder Dixon hops down from his perch, laughing slightly.

 

“Man, you’re wasting bullets we ain’t even got!” T-Dog hops down from the wire walkway. “And you’re bringing more of them down on our ass! Just chill!”

 

“Or what? Bad enough I got this taco bender on my ass all day, now I gotta take orders from you?” he sneers, getting up in T-Dog’s face. “I don’t think so, bro. That’ll be the day.”

 

“Hey!” Beth shouts, shaking off Glenn’s warning hand on her arm. “What the hell, Merle?”

 

“Stay outta this, blondie,” he calls over his shoulder.

 

“No!” she yells, marching over to him. “What in the world has gotten into you?” Grabbing his shoulder, she steers him so that he faces her. His pupils are dilated to an extreme and dart all over the place.

 

“That’ll be the day?” T-Dog shakes his head incredulously, stepping towards them. “Girl, you might wanna get out of the way. You got something you wanna tell me, man?”

 

“I got this, just let me -"

 

“No!” he exclaims, ignoring her protests, stepping closer to the threatening man.

 

“Beth, stay back,” Rick warns and grabs her forearm, pulling her away.

 

 “You wanna know the day?” Merle saunters towards T-Dog, his grip on the rifle tightening.

 

“Yeah.” T-Dog’s chest swells, his fists clench with an anticipated rage.

 

“I’ll tell you the day, Mr. Yo. It’s the day I take orders from a nigger,” he says, a condescending smirk settling on his face.

 

T-Dog curses with a roar and moves to pummel him, but Merle’s quicker. He slams his face with the butt of his rifle, only to beat the black man to a pulp. Merle’s fists make a sick, smacking noise as they punch him again and again and again.

 

Everyone, including Beth, screams for him to stop. She wants to jump in, break it up, and pull him back, but she knows she’ll only end up with a black eye if she tries.

 

Rick leaps over the pipes in one swift motion, only to receive Merle’s fist in his face, knocking him flat on his back. Beth helps him to his knees, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. “You know this man?” he asks, blinking slowly.

 

“He’s my boyfriend’s brother,” she grumbles, gritting her teeth. The sounds of flesh beating flesh abruptly stop, causing her to look up.

 

Merle kneels over T-Dog, his hand around his throat and a pistol jammed in his face. Beth climbs over the pipes and approaches him from behind.

 

“Merle, give me the gun,” she says, shocked that her voice doesn’t shake. “Don’t do something you’re gonna regret.”

 

“Bastard’s got to be put in his place, darlin’,” he mocks, shoving the gun further into T-Dog’s face.

 

“Look at me,” she demands, snapping her fingers. “Give me the gun.”

 

“Or what? You’ll snap in my face like some dog? I don’t think so, Blond-“

 

“Or this.” Rick cracks the butt of the rifle against Merle’s face, bringing him down to the ground. Beth winces as Rick presses his knee on his face and handcuffs his wrist to a bolted down pipe.

 

“Who the hell are you, man?” Merle snarls as Rick grabs him by the shirt collar and pulls him up.

 

“Officer Friendly,” he says, snarky and irritated. “Look here, Merle,” he begins, removing the bullets from the shotgun. “Things are different now. There are no  _niggers_  anymore. No  _dumb-as-shit-inbred-white-trash_  fools neither. Only dark meat and white meat. There’s us and the dead. We survive this by pulling together, not apart.”

 

“Fuck you, man,” Merle sneers.

 

“I can see you making a habit of missing the point.”

 

“Yeah? Well fuck you twice.”

 

“You outta be more polite to a man with a gun,” Rick says, echoing Merle’s earlier words. “Only common sense.”

 

“You – you’re a cop,” he says, voice slurring.

 

“All I am anymore is a man looking for his wife and son,” he utters, so quietly Beth has to strain to hear. “Anybody that gets in the way of that’s gonna lose. I’ll give you a moment to think about that.”

 

“He’s on something,” Beth says, hesitantly approaching the pair. “Probably still got some on him.”

 

“What the fuck, Blondie?” he asks as Rick rifles through his vest pockets.

 

He fishes out a bag of a grainy, white substance. “You got some on your nose,” he mocks, standing up and tossing the bag over the edge of the roof.

 

“Hey – What are you doing, man?! That’s my stuff!” he yells, yanking his handcuffed wrist and rattling the chain. “If I get lose, you better pray!”

 

“Oh Merle,” Beth sighs and plops down a few feet away from him as he continues to yell at Rick.

 

"Who are you two, anyway?" Andrea asks, her eyebrows quirking as she examines Beth and Rick with cold eyes.

 

"My name's Beth," she says, glancing up at the older blonde. "That's Rick."

 

"I'm Morales," the dark haired man says. "That's Jacqui, Andrea, T-Dog, Glenn." He gestures halfheartedly towards the surrounding buildings. "Welcome to the big city."

 

“How’s that signal?” Rick asks over the crackling of the radio.

 

“Like Dixon’s brain,” T-Dog replies. “Fried.”

 

Beth rolls her eyes as Merle lifts a middle finger to him.

 

“Keep trying,” Morales urges.

 

“Why? There’s nothing we can do,” Andrea says, defeated. “Not a damn thing.”

 

“Got some people outside of the city, that’s all,” Morales explains. “There’s no refugee center. That’s a pipe dream.”

 

“Guess we’re on our own. It’s up to us to find a way out,” Rick says, glancing around the group.

 

“Good luck with that. These streets ain’t safe in this part of town from what I hear,” Merle drawls and turns to Andrea. “Ain’t that right, sugar tits? Why don’t you get me outta these cuffs, we go off somewhere and bump some uglies? Gonna die anyway.”

 

Andrea scoffs. “I’d rather.”

 

Beth rolls her eyes. “Does that ever actually work?”

 

“Not on rugmunchers like her,” he grumbles as she walks away.

 

“The streets ain’t safe, now there’s an understatement,” Morales mutters, eyes glazed 0ver as he looks down.

 

“What about under the streets? The sewers?” Rick suggests.

 

“Oh man!” he exclaims, moving over from the edge. “Hey Glenn, check the alley. You see any manhole covers?”

 

Glenn jogs across the roof, his feet clanking the metal beneath them. “No,” he replies as he jogs back. “Must be out on the street where all the geeks are.”

 

“Maybe not,” Jacqui pipes in. “Old building like this built in the twenties – big structures often had drainage tunnels inside to the sewers in case of flooding down in the subbasements.”

 

“How do you know that?” Glenn asks.

 

“It’s my job. Was,” she explains. “I worked in the city zoning office.”

 

Rick nods absentmindedly. “Alright, then. Let’s go check it out.” Beth volunteers to stay behind with Merle as the rest of the group ventures down into the basement. As the echoes of the group’s footsteps on the staircase dwindles, she drums her fingers on the concrete and sighs.

 

The early afternoon sun is hot, and the air is muggy. Thunderclouds rumble in the distance, threatening an oncoming storm. She finds it hard to believe that just this morning she was on the road, foolishly believing that she would find a refugee center soon. Even harder to believe that two days ago, she was still practically dead to the world in a hospital bed.

 

“How the hell are you even still alive, Blondie?” Merle grunts, breaking the silence, sweat beading down his forehead.

 

Beth shrugs and looks down at the walker infested street below her. “I’ve been asking that question myself. I guess it’s not my time to go yet.” She turns around and leans against the rooftop wall.

 

“The lil bro said he went to the hospital when shit started going down. Said that the military was bustin’ through the doors, guns blazin’,” he explains, shaking his head, chuckling darkly. “You got him all fucked up in the head, girl. Haven’t seen him this nasty in years.”

 

She takes a deep breath. “But he’s alive?”

 

“And kickin’. Left to go hunting this morning. Bet he’s gonna be real excited to see you.”

 

She lets out a shuddering sigh, presses the heel of her palms to her eyes, and smiles. “Thank you, Merle.” She swallows the lump in her throat and looks up at him.

 

“Well, we’re practically family now, ain’t we?” he snickers, shaking his head. His eyes are still a little bit tweaked out, but not as much as before. “As long as you or Officer Friendly gets me out of these things, we’ll be alright.”

 

“Of course,” she says. “What the hell were you even thinking?”

 

“Just trying to set things straight, put him in his place, that’s all. Like they should be. Our kind and his kind, they shouldn’t intermix.”

 

Beth curls her lip and shakes her head. “Thinking like that is going to get you killed. None of that has mattered in the past, and it sure as hell doesn’t matter now.”

 

Curling his upper lip, he scoffs and tears his gaze away from her. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, Blondie. Should know that by now.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “You’re just going to have to get used to me having high expectations of you.”

 

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head slightly.

 

The door to the roof opens, T-Dog emerging from it, twirling a walkie talkie in his hand.

 

“What’s going on?” Beth asks, meeting his gaze.

 

“Glenn, Morales, and Jacqui are checking out the sewers. Rick and Andrea are watching the front of the store,” he replies. “I’m gonna try the radio again. You alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” she assures, sighing at his overly protective tone. She knows she can take care of herself, she didn’t think she’d have to prove that again after her stunt with the gun earlier.

 

“Anybody hear me?” T-Dog radios, sitting down with his back to the wall. “Anybody out there?”

 

Silence. A sharp gust of wind hits them

 

 “Hello? Anybody read?”

 

It’s as if the rooftop is its own planet, isolated and hurling away from any other existence at lightning speed. Beth feels very alone.

 

“I’m hoping to hear somebody’s voice because I’m gettin’ sick and tired of hearing of mine.”

 

“Yeah, well that makes two of us,” Merle says, eyes downcast. “Why don’t you knock that shit off? Gonna give me a headache.”

 

“Why don’t you pull your head outta your ass? It’ll make your headache go away. Try some positivity for a chance, damn,” he snaps back over Merle’s chuckling.

 

“Tell you what,” he begins, “get me outta these cuffs and I’ll be all Sammy-Sunshine-Positive for ya.” He glances over to a toolbox sitting a few feet away. “See that hacksaw over there? Get it for me. I’ll make it worth your while.”

 

“Will you quit it?” Beth rolls her eyes. “I’ll get you out of there before we leave.”

 

“What the lady said. Why would I do that – so you can beat my ass again? Or call me nigger some more?”

 

“Aw, c’mon man, it wasn’t personal. Like I was tellin’ Blondie earlier – our kinds just aren’t mean to mix. Don’t mean we can’t work together as long as there’s mutual gain,” he says, attempting to reason.

 

“That logic is wearing real thin, Merle,” Beth says. “Race relations are hardly an issue anymore.”

 

“Yeah. And I guess you’d want me to give you that rifle so you can shoot that cop when he comes back up here too, huh?” T-Dog adds, quirking an eyebrow.

 

Merle laughs humorously. A bead of sweat drips down the back of Beth’s neck.

 

…

 

“That construction site,” Rick says, passing the binoculars over, “those trucks – they always keep keys on hand.” Beth peers over the edge at the large trucks parked a block away. Anxiety began to thrum in her stomach when the group reappeared on the roof, claiming that walkers had shattered the first set of glass doors.

 

Morales takes the binoculars, looks at the truck, and looks directly below. “You’ll never make it past the walkers.”

 

“You got us outta that tank,” Rick remarks, looking at Glenn.

 

“Yeah, but they were feeding, distracted.”

 

“Can we distract them again?”

 

“Right, listen, he’s onto somethin’. A diversion,” Merle drawls, smirking. “Like on Hogan’s Heroes –“

 

“God, give it a rest –“

 

“Merle, I swear –“

 

Jacqui and Beth both say simultaneously, giving one another tired smiles afterwards.

 

“They’re drawn to sound, right?” Rick redirects, eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Right – like dogs,” Glenn confirms. “They hear sound, they come.”

 

“What else?”

 

“Aside from that they hear you? They see you, smell you, and if they catch you, they eat you,” Morales lists.

 

“They can tell us by smell?” Rick sounds surprised.

 

“Can’t you?” Glenn looks at him incredulously.

 

“They smell dead. We don’t. It’s pretty distinct,” Andrea comments.

 

Rick nods. “I think I got an idea.”

 

…

 

“I’m so happy I decided to sit this one out,” Beth mutters as she peers through the binoculars, keeping them trained on Rick and Glenn as they begin to make their way through the alley.

 

“What’s happening?” Merle asks, pulling on the cuffs, metal on metal jingling.

 

“Looks like they covered themselves in guts,” she replies, crinkling her nose.

 

The door slams open, and the rest of the group jogs over to the far side of the building. “Hey T-Dog! Turn on the CB,” Morales says, peering over the edge.

 

“Hey – it’s T-Dog. Can anyone hear me? Can anybody out there hear me?” he says into the radio, his voice urgent and pressing.

 

“They’re over there,” Beth says, pointing to where the alley meets the street.

 

“Wait - you mean to tell me that asshole’s out there with the handcuff keys?!” Merle demanded.

 

T-Dog reaches into his pocket, and slowly pulls out his hand, revealing a tiny silver key, waving it tauntingly. Merle scowls and grinds his teeth.

 

They watch Rick and Glenn on the street, too tense for conversation. Beth drums her fingers on the concrete and bites her lip, keeping her eyes trained on her companions.

 

Thunder and lightning crackle overhead. Her stomach sinks when drops of rain begin to hit her head and her shoulders. “Oh no,” she murmurs, eyes widening and praying for the best.

 

“It’s just a cloud burst,” Morales attempts to reassure. “We get them all the time. It’ll pass real quick.”

 

Beth watches in horror as the gore slides off of the trench coats that Rick and Glenn sport. She’s never felt more hopeless than when she watches them run for the construction site with walkers sprinting behind them.

 

“Are they leaving us?!” Andrea asks hysterically when they drive away in the construction van.

 

“They wouldn’t do that!” Jacqui exclaims, sounding just as anxious herself.

 

Glenn’s voice crackles on the CB. “Roll up to the front of the store where the loading doors are facing the street. Meet us there and be ready.”

 

“Come on, come on, let’s move!” Morales yells, grasping for the bags of their supplies.

 

“T-Dog – you got the key right?” Beth calls over her shoulder, closing the toolbox and picking it up.

 

“Yeah, yeah!” he replies frantically. She nods and follows the others downstairs, trying not to notice the almost deafening noise of the walkers about to break in.

 

When T-Dog arrives on the first level alone, nausea overwhelms her stomach. “Where’s Merle?” Beth yells, feeling as if she’s on the edge of a panic attack.

 

T-Dog just looks at her, unable to speak.

 

“Shit!” she curses, tightening her grip on the toolbox and running towards the stairwell, ignoring the screaming behind her. She knows her legs should be burning, but the adrenaline subdues the pain for the time being. The toolbox clangs against the metal railing of the staircase, echoing downward.

 

When she reaches the top of the stairwell, out of breath, she’s stunned to find it chained shut. Ignoring the oncoming growls of walkers below her, she unhooks a pair of large bolt cutters attached to the top of the box. With her trembling hands and aching arms, she grits her teeth and begins to work at cutting the lock. Her grip on the cutters is awkward, but she holds on as tightly as she can and squeezes.

 

Her arms are on fire when she finally hears a snap, surprised that she actually broke through the steel. Yanking the lock out of its place, she kicks the door open and grabs the toolbox. “Merle!” she cries, shoulders sagging in relief.

 

“Fuckin’ Christ! Get me out of this thing!” he roars, edging on derangement.

 

She sprints over to him and falls to her knees, using the bolt cutters to cut the handcuffs. A car alarm whirs from below, moving down the street, away from them. “What in the -?” she says, shooting to her feet and looking down over the street.

 

A red, flashy Dodge Charger zooms down the street, the moving truck following it a few seconds later. Beth’s jaw drops open, a cold feeling settling in her stomach.

 

“The fuck is that?” Merle asks, rubbing his wrists as he stumbles next to her.

 

“That was the group. Getting out of the city,” she replies numbly. Beth doesn’t move her gaze from the street below, the snarls and banging of walkers closing in on them.

 

…

 

_Beth raises her knuckles and knocks on the faded wooden door, fidgeting slightly. The heavy plastic bags she clutches in her other hand threaten to cut against her skin. She hears a thump, and something mumbled harshly. She furrows her eyebrows._

_Daryl opens the door a foot wide, his head and shoulder peeking through. “Hey. ‘Sup?” he asks, the lines around his eyes and mouth tight. He raises his thumb to his mouth and chews on the nail, a habit Beth knows to be born of nerves._

_“I thought I’d surprise you with dinner,” she explains, disheartened at his unenthusiastic state. She bites her lip. “You alright?”_

_“Now’s not a really good time –“_

_“Well, well, well. Who’s this little lady right here?” a brash voice interrupts. A bald man who looks to be about ten years older than Daryl saunters up, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Why don’t you introduce me to your lady friend, Darylina? Didn’t think you had it in ya!”_

_The tips of Daryl’s ears turn red as he scowls at the floor. “This is –“_

_“I’m Beth,” she says, sticking her hand out. “And you are -?”_

_He smirks, his eyes dragging over her up and down. “Daryl’s my lil bro. Call me Merle, sweetcheeks.”_

_She crinkles her nose. “Call me Beth. Not sweetcheeks.” Stepping past the brothers swiftly, she marches towards the cabin’s tiny kitchenette. “I brought supplies to make spaghetti. Did you two already eat yet? Are you having a guy’s night?” Her eyes search for Daryl’s._

_He stares at the ground, until his eyes flicker up to meet hers. Hesitancy is plain in his face, and Beth hopes that he knows that if he really doesn’t want her there, she’ll leave. Taking a deep breath, he shakes his head slightly. “Was just about to figure something out.”_

_Beth smiles so hard her cheeks hurt. “Guess it’s good I came over, then!”_

_Merle whistles. “Damn boy, if I had a pretty little thing like her, especially if she cooked for me, I’d never let her leave! The hell are you doin’?”_

_Daryl blushes again and shakes his brother off of his shoulders. Beth’s unloading her groceries on the counter when she feels his arms wrap around her waist._

_“You okay?” she asks quietly._

_He grunts. “Merle got outta jail today. Wasn’t expecting it.” He presses his chin to the side of her head. “He’s a dick. Don’t feel like you have to stay if you don’t want to.”_

_Turning in his arms, she studies his face. He looks tired, more tired than he ever has before. She places her hands on both sides of his jaw and pulls him in for a chaste kiss, her lips brushing against his chapped ones. Pulling back, she murmurs, “If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. But I really don’t want to leave and I’m in the mood for spaghetti.”_

_He stares at her for a moment, drags his hands down her sides to her hips, and pecks her lips again. “Me too,” he smirks._

_Beth can practically feel her heart soar._

...

 

“Let’s move!” Merle shouts, yanking Beth’s arm and breaking her from her reverie. She blinks and glances towards the door that sits ajar. 

 

Eyes widening and pulse drumming in her ears, she scrambles to pick up the bolt cutters on the ground. With an iron grip around her upper arm, he leads them through an open door on the other side of the roof. They hurriedly climb down the stairs, feet thudding against the metal.

 

When they reach the bottom, Merle shuts the door to the stairwell behind them, shoving a metal foldig chair under the door knob. They find themselves in a high end office. “Pricks,” he mutters, “guess money can’t save your ass now, huh?” He chuckles, thumping his fist against a mahogany desk.

 

Beth rolls her eyes. “C’mon, let’s just keep moving.”

 

Out of the corner of her eye, a walker moans and staggers towards them, its jaw missing and tongue hanging out. “Gimme those cutters, Blondie,” he says. “I got this.”

 

She hands him the tool and winces when he sticks the metal clamp through her eye, effectively killing it. She tries not to gag as she follows him out of the office.

 

Two more walkers emerge from a room down the hall, bloody bite marks visible on their necks and shoulders. “C’mere, boys!” Merle hollers, swinging the cutters back like a tennis racquet. He swings, and results in sticking the clamp into the temple of one of the walkers.

 

The other one approaches Beth, its fingers stretching towards her. She shoves it back a few feet, gritting her teeth when realizing she doesn’t have a weapon. “A little help over here!” she cries.

 

Merle grunts when he sticks the cutters into the walker’s eyeball like he had done before. “What would you do without ol’ Merle?” he taunts, leading the way to another part of the building.

 

“Be on a truck to safety,” she grumbles, wiping her hands on her jeans.

 

They round the corner to find an industrial sized kitchen. Boxes lay strewn on the tile floor, their contents pouring out the side. Moldy bread sits on racks across from the oven, attracting flies and other bugs. Beth crinkles her nose at the smell of rotting food wafting from the fridge. “There’s a whole lotta cans over here, Blondie,” Merle says from the panty. “Best pick out yourself some dinner.”

 

She walks over and grabs two cans – one with baked beans, the other with Spaghettios – and a bottle of water. “Aren’t we heading back to camp?”

 

“Nah,” he replies. “Too far on foot and the sun’s about to set. We’ll have to leave in the morning.” Holding two cans with one hand, he spits on the ground and grabs her shoulder, pushing her forward gently. “C’mon, let’s find a place to hole up for the night.” He stomps out of the kitchen, muttering unintelligibly under his breath. “Can’t believe those sons of bitches  _LEFT US HERE!_ ” he yells, his fist hitting the wall with a thud.

 

“Quiet down Merle!” Beth hisses, catching up with him after grabbing utensils from the counter. “Who knows how many walkers could be in here?!”

 

“If there were more, they would’ve come by now. But there ain’t!” he says, shouting the last sentence. “Means we can get as loud as we want!” He leads them down a stairwell to the first floor, where walkers are just as scarce as they were on the levels above.

 

Beth groans. “Idiot,” she mutters under her breath.

 

He shoots her a glare and pointedly ignores her. “This should be good for the night,” he declares after leading them into a small office space with a few windows high above. He plops down in a pleather office chair, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the desk. “You wanna come over here, get all warm and cozy with Merle? I’ll keep you safe, Blondie,” he croons, his eyes taunting.

 

She scoffs and shakes her head. “I think you know what I’m gonna say to that,” she replies. Beth settles herself on the loveseat, letting herself sink heavily into the cushions. Fiddling with the knife in one hand and the can of baked beans between her knees, she carves the lid off and digs in. She shovels the food into her mouth, moaning quietly at the syrupy sweet taste.

 

“Sounds like you’re getting’ dirty over there,” he taunts, pointing his fork at her.

 

“Screw you,” she says, mouth full. She can feel her stomach curling inward at the sudden onslaught of food, but ignores it, knowing she needs the energy.

 

They finish their dinner in silence, the light gradually getting dimmer in the office with the setting sun. Being on the first floor, Beth can hear walkers meandering about outside of the window. She shudders and lies down on the sofa.

 

“Get some sleep, Blondie. I’ll wake you for watch in a couple of hours,” Merle says, breaking the silence, his serious tone uncharacteristic.

 

Beth just hums and lets her eyes flutter shut.

 

…

 

He shakes her awake a few hours later, the office mostly dark except for a thin ray of moonlight. She sits up, rubs her eyes, and offers Merle the couch. He flops down on it, and starts snoring almost instantaneously.

 

Beth sits in the office chair, spinning back and forth. The building was quiet, spare the moans and groans from outside. Nervous anticipation flutters in her stomach. Knowing that Daryl is somewhat close by is killing her. She gnaws on her lip and bites back a smile at the thought of seeing him soon.

 

She knows it’s going to be interesting when they get back to camp. She’s not mad at Rick – if he was driving, how could he have known that she wasn’t with the rest of the group? She couldn’t exactly say the same thing about T-Dog. On one hand, she’s extremely pissed off that he dropped the ball so hard, but on the other, she can understand. Merle was the worst kind of dick to him, and if someone acted that way towards her, she wouldn’t be all to eager to help them either.

 

Nonetheless, she's ready to get out and stay out of Atlanta for a long time.

 

…

 

A few minutes after the first light of dawn trickles in, something bangs open from the other side of the building. Beth shoots up and tiptoes over to Merle, shaking him awake. “Merle? Merle!”

 

“Fuckin’ –“ he grunts, blinking awake blearily and looking up at her. “The fuck’s goin’ on?”

 

“Something’s happening. I heard a bang,” she whispers. In the distance, she can hear multiple sets of feet thumping around in the lobby of the office space. Muffled male laughter echoes throughout, as well as harsh bangs and shuffling.

 

“Shit,” he mutters, pushing himself up.

 

Beth whips her head around the office, looking for anything that could help. There are two knives sitting on the desk, but that is it. She can’t help but feel like they are sitting ducks, trapped with nowhere to go.

 

“I call dibs on the first piece of tail we find!” a man shouts, muffled through the walls.

 

“We ain’t gonna find nothin’  in here, boy.”

 

“This isn’t the time for that. We need to grab anything useful we can. Take it all.”

 

“Tail is useful! Helps keep morale up!” The men cackle, their movements getting closer.

 

Her heart beating in her ears fast, she looks to Merle. “What are we gonna do?” she asks, barely over a whisper.

 

He faces her, eyes hard and unflinching. “You’re gonna break this window and get the hell outta here. I’ll distract them.”

 

Her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “But Merle! You can’t stay here with them!”

 

“I can take care of myself, Blondie. You need to go to camp and find Daryl. He misses you more than he’s ever gonna miss me.”

 

Her eyes bore into hers. “That’s not true. I’m not leaving you here!”

 

“You’re not leaving me – I’m the one making you leave! Now go! Git!” he hisses, pushing her gently towards the window.

 

“Where’s the camp? I don’t even know where I’m going!” Her voice edges on hysteria.

 

“Follow 85 north and get on 278 heading east! Follow the signs to Native Creek Campground – you can’t miss it,” he whispers, the men getting closer. “Go! Now!”

 

She nods, blinking back tears. Merle takes the bolt cutters and shoves them through the window, shattering the glass.

 

“The hell was that?” a man asks, his voice surprisingly close.

 

“Alright now, boys - I come in peace!”

 

Beth gets one last glimpse of Merle walking out into the hallway, his hands up, his voice and demeanor friendly. She grabs the bolt cutters and climbs out the window, landing on a few overgrown plants.

 

She glances around, inhales deeply, and breathes out.

 

_Follow 85 north and get on 278 heading east. Follow the signs to Native Creek Campground – you can’t miss it._


	3. life is tough but so are you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beth kicks ass (as usual).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three! Woo! 
> 
> Sorry this took so long to get out, I'm still not 100% happy with how this turned out, but I figured if I don't post it now, I never will.
> 
> Holy crap - the feedback and the comments I've been getting have been amazing! You guys are so great. A+.
> 
> Just a heads up - I'm going to be starting my freshman year of college really soon, so my updates probably won't be as long as they have been. I will be updating whenever I can. This fic is really fun to write, it'll be a nice stress reliever in the future.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

Beth remembers how much time she spent running cross country in high school. Remembers how she loved the burning in her calves, the fire in her lungs, how the soles of her feet felt battered and bruised after a race. She particularly loved running on the trails behind her high school. They bordered farmland and barely skimmed the edge of town, allowing her to run under the oak trees with Spanish moss dangling from its limbs.

She remembers how she would run through the pungent scent of grass and wheat, how quiet the countryside would be, the only sound being her feet hitting the trail.

Now, the stench and echoes of the undead surround her, breaking her from her reverie.

_Follow 85 north and get on 278 heading east. Follow the signs to Native Creek Campground – you can’t miss it._

It feels so wrong to leave Merle behind, but since she doesn’t hear gunshots or screaming, she has to assume he’s okay. She knows that he’s a survivor, he can make it on his own. A part of her is keenly aware that this won’t be the last time she’ll be seeing Merle Dixon.

She shakes her head. Focus. He sacrificed himself for her so she could get back to camp, back to safety, back to Daryl. She knows she needs to do just that.

Beth gazes at her surroundings. The office building backs up to a small courtyard, green grass surrounded by a black iron fence. She clicks the gate open and skirts down the alley to get to the street. In the early morning light, there aren’t a lot of walkers on the street. Nothing more than she can handle. She grips the bolt cutters tight in a palm and creeps down the block, feet whispers on the pavement.

She recognizes this part of downtown Atlanta, her and Maggie had once ate brunch at a café that sat down the street. Of course, all the buildings stand empty and silent now, save the persistent pounding behind some of the windows.

Beth heads north, keeping the sun on her right side and following the signs that point to Highway 85. She finds navigating the city to be easier when she's by herself on her feet. She likes not having to worry about anyone other than herself.

After a few blocks of no activity, she stops in her tracks when she hears growls and moaning from around the corner, getting closer. As a small herd of walkers turn the corner, she sneaks into an alley, not daring to do more than breathe shallowly.

As the herd passes, a loud honk echoes down the street. Beth peeks from the side of the building, furrowing her brow when a black car with a white cross on the back window speeds past. It brakes to a halt at the edge of the street, the squealing echoing through the city. It pauses and turns left, driving away from her position. A minute later, a similar looking car follows on its tail. Beth shivers, an eerie sensation of being someone's prey washing over her. She shakes her head, emerges from the alley, and speeds up her pace from walking to jogging.

When she reaches a park on the outside of downtown, she sighs in relief. She pauses for a breath, her heartbeat pumping hard and steadily in her eardrums. A few walkers amble around on the other side of the grass, unaware of her presence. She eyes a rack of locked up bikes, licking her chapped lips thoughtfully. Creeping over to the bike rack, she uses the bolt cutters to snap through the chain that attached to a red cruiser bike.

She feels silly when she hops on the bike, pleased to find its tires still intact. Reluctant, she leaves the bolt cutters in the park. Gripping the handlebars firmly with one hand and lightly with her fingertips on the other, Beth pedals towards a ramp onto the highway. She rides past the onramp and onto the exit, remembering the hundreds of cars parked on one side of the road.

The walkers in the park try to follow her, but the bike helps her speed away from them.

Once she’s on the highway, the anxiety in her chest relaxes to a certain extent. It’s hard to tell how long she ran through downtown, but the sun has risen and now shines its morning light all over the city. It’s already muggy, the back of her tank top sticking to her sweaty back.

She hits the breaks, slowing to a stop, and looks over her shoulder. “Atlanta, I’ll be seeing you never,” she mutters under her breath. Kicking off of the pavement, she bikes north, away from the city once and for all.

…

The dryness of her tongue and the pounding in her head worsen as the morning drags on. Lucky for her, the freeways around Atlanta stand void of walkers. The only thing she worries about is the possibility of her passing out because of dehydration. Her last sip of water was the evening before, and judging by the sweat stains on her tank top, her body isn’t preserving water as it should.

She follows the 278 east until she sees signs that read _Native Creek Campground and Nature Preservation – 12._ Exhaling, Beth rides towards the exit and coasts downwards onto the four lane street underneath the highway.

Unfortunately for Beth, the streets below the overpass are much more walker infested than above. They shuffle around with no clear direction, a few turning their heads at the sound of her bike screeching to a stop. Her heartbeat quickens and pounds in her ears as her eyes dart around the intersection.

Pushing off the pavement, she pedals furiously around the walkers, using her speed to her advantage. Weaving between cars and debris, she tries not look behind her. “Come on, come on, come on,” she mutters to herself, her voice high and breathy. Sneaking a peek over her shoulder, a scream bubbles in her throat at the growing crowd of walkers at her back.

In the midst of her horror, the bike jerks underneath her and she finds herself face first on the ground. Gravel digs into her palms as shaky arms push her up and help stumble her to her feet. With the undead close behind, she limps to the side of the road and picks up a rock. Rolling it in her palm, she aims and tosses it into a parked car a few feet away. It crashes through the window, causing the jarring car alarm to break the quiet.

She heaves a sigh of relief as the alarm distracts most of the walkers, drawing them towards it. Yet - one persistent walker continues to stagger towards her, its broken teeth gnashing and rotting arms outstretched. Beth bends down and picks up a heavier rock, and grips onto it tight.

When it’s close enough, she raises the rock over her head and slams it on the top of its skull. The granite breaks the skin, sending blood and brain matter onto her hands. Grimacing, Beth kicks one of its knees in and sends it toppling to the ground. She catches her breath momentarily and continues to slam the rock in its head, more and more tissue splattering everywhere. Her movements shaky and awkward as adrenaline seeps out of her body. Once it’s dead, she drops the rock and staggers backwards. With one look at her bloody hands, she falls to her knees and vomits up bile infused with remnants of baked beans from last night.

She coughs and sputters, heaving for a breath. She wipes her mouth on her dirtied tank top, noticing the plaster on her wrist has a slight crack. Flexing her fingertips, Beth knows she’s going to have to figure out a way to get it off sooner than later, no matter if her wrist has healed or not.

Beth stands up straight. Rolls her shoulders. Ignores how her hands still tremble. Ignores the sounds of walkers moaning behind her. Picks up the bike, straddles it, and pedals down the street.

Beth grits her teeth through the achiness of her limbs and the throbbing in her head. She didn’t make it this far for nothing.

…

It’s midmorning when she finally reaches the exit that leads to the campground. Beth feels like her body is running on autopilot, her mind too focused on moving forward to focus on how exhausted she is.

When the pavement turns into dirt and gravel, she ditches the bike. After leaning it up against a tree, she starts her hike up the road. The sun is hot on the back of her neck and the tops of her shoulders. The bugs already start to hum in the morning heat. Sweat beads down her forehead and her neck, and Beth knows she’s going to smell awful when she gets to camp.

Walking feels like a trance, even as the hill gradually steepens and her thighs begin to burn. All she’s able to focus on is keeping one foot in front of the other then the other in front and so on and so on –

Beth shakes her head slowly and glances up the hill. Blinking blearily, she hears a muddled version of someone calling her name. Someone with dark hair jogs down towards her.  
“Beth?! Beth! Holy shit! Oh my God!” Glenn yells, his eyes wild with shock. “Oh my God. C’mere.” He skids to a stop in front of her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling hers over his shoulder. “Come on, you’re gonna be okay.”

“Finally,” she hums, her head feeling as if it’s about to burst. “Daryl’s here?” she asks, slurred and jumbled.

“Huh? Oh, no he’s not back yet,” he replies, practically dragging her up the hill. “Dale!” he hollers, “Where should I put her?!”

“Oh my God!”

“Is she bit?!”

“Who is that?!”

Her eyes sweep around the camp, faces blurry and muddled. “’s going on?” she questions as Glenn steers her towards a large RV.

“We’re getting you help,” he says, his voice unstable and shaky.

A man with a fishing hat and a bewildered expression rushes towards them. “Is this the Beth Rick was telling us about last night?” he asks incredulously.

“Yeah,” he affirms. “Jesus, I don’t even know…” He trails off, helping her into the RV and onto a padded bench.

Beth closes her eyes, groaning as the ache in her legs fade. Someone raises a plastic water bottle to her lips, tipping it so a steady stream of water flows down. She drinks greedily, some of the liquid trickling down her chin.

“Woah, woah there. Slowly,” a familiar voice instructs from beside her. Beth opens her eyes.

“Jacqui?” she murmurs, tearing herself away from the water and taking a deep breath.

Jacqui shushes her and raises the back of her hand to Beth’s forehead. “I’m here, you’re alright,” she reassures and takes Beth’s trembling hand in hers. “How do you feel?”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “Dizzy. Tired,” she replies, her senses slowly coming back to her. Opening her eyes, she looks down at her hands, the blood in the crevices dried and cracking.

“Here, Beth, right?” the older man with the fishing hat sets an open Gatorade down in front of her. “Drink this. It’ll help you rehydrate faster.”

Beth nods and gulps a few mouthfuls of the sickly sweet liquid down. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he replies, smiling kindly. “I’m Dale, by the way. We heard a lot of things about you last night.”

“Hopefully all good?” she smiles back weakly.

“About, you, yes,” he says and turns to rummage through a cabinet.

“Beth,” Glenn starts, “where’s Merle?”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “We were staying in this office building last night, and early this morning this group of men came in. We were trapped. He told me to escape through the window while he distracted the group.” Letting out a shuddering breath, she blinks back tears. “In retrospect, I don’t know how I could’ve just left him there. It happened so sudden, and I didn’t know what else to do. I know he can take care of himself, but he doesn’t deserve to be left alone in the city.”

Jacqui runs a hand up and down her forearm and gives her a sympathetic smile. “I never would’ve thought that Merle Dixon could be so noble.”

She snorts. “I don’t know about noble, but he sure had my back.”

“Alright.” A man with dark curls and a King County Sheriff’s Department shirt walks into the RV. “What’s going on?”

“This is Beth – the Beth Rick was telling us about last night,” Dale explains. Beth moves to stick out her hand, but recoils when she remembers the blood.

“Seriously?” he cocks his eyebrow and glances back and forth between the two. “If you’re Beth, then where’s Merle Dixon?”

“He’s still in Atlanta. I had to leave him,” she grits out, the back of her neck heating up with shame.

“Jesus,” the man breathes, shaking his head. “At least he’s not back here.”

Beth ignores that comment. “Is Rick here? Is he alright?”

“Well, he’s just fine. Probably still sleeping, right?” Dale answers, looking towards the man. He shrugs.

“What happened?” A willowy brunette pokes her head in the doorway of the RV. “What's going on?”

“I’m Beth.” She waves, grimacing at the dried blood on her cast.

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh my God,” she gasps, her fingertips brushing her lips in shock.

Beth’s lips twitch into a tight smile. Her chest tightens.

“Everyone! Give her some air!” Jacqui exclaims, standing up and shooing everyone out of the RV. The men mumble apologies, but the brunette woman stays and enters the vehicle.

“Thank you,” Beth murmurs, leaning her head back against the wall and taking another sip of Gatorade.

The woman sits across from Beth and weaves her fingers together tightly. “Thank you, Beth,” she says, her dark eyes staring into Beth’s. “Thank you for helping my husband get back to my son and me.”

“Oh,” Beth breathes. “You’re Lori?”

She nods. “I can’t even begin to express how it feels to have my husband back, or knowing that Carl has his father again. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

She blushes and looks down at her lap. “He helped me more than I helped him.”

“God, he was so distraught last night. He had no idea that you weren’t in the van until they were almost out of the city. I could tell it was tearing him apart on the inside.” She pauses, and sucks in a deep breath. “And knowing you were stuck with Merle Dixon? Sweetheart, I didn’t even know you and I was worried to pieces.”

Beth grits her teeth and shrugs. “I’ve known Merle for a while. I knew he would never hurt me, at least not on purpose.” She inhales deeply through her nose. “I’m not going to lie. I’m upset that they left us in the city, but I know he wouldn’t’ve done it on purpose.”

“Of course he wouldn’t’ve!” Lori exclaims, placing her hand on top of Beth’s. “It’s a miracle that you made it this far. And that you and Rick found each other when you did.”

She nods and looks down at her lap, feeling slightly overwhelmed at all the attention. She realizes she probably still has gunk on her face and hair, and laughs inwardly.

“You alright?” the man with dark hair asks, peering in the doorway of the RV. Beth recognizes the sheriff logo printed on his t-shirt, and recognition stirs in the back of her mind.  
She nods. 

He whistles lowly. “Assuming that you came all the way from the city to here by yourself, I'm damn impressed.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’m Shane. If you need anything, let me know.”

"Thank you," she replies, blinking slowly. "Will do."

Lori stands and wipes her palms on her jeans. “C’mon, Shane. Let’s give her some space for a few minutes. I’ll try to find something for you to eat.”

Beth smiles gratefully at Lori as the two exit the RV. Sighing, she rubs the side of her neck, feeling the tension knotting up in her muscles.

Jacqui pats the top of her hand. “You sure you're alright?”

She nods and sighs. “It’s just overwhelming, you know? Being mostly alone for a while and then being around all these people…”

“I can believe it,” she replies. “Do you want some more water?” she asks, nodding to the mostly empty plastic bottles in front of her.

“Yes, please,” she says, a tired smile on her face.

They jolt when a child screams across camp. Jacqui runs to the doorway and pokes her head out.

“Is everything alright?” Beth asks, scooting towards the edge of the bench.

“I don’t think anyone was bit. Probably just a scare.” She turns around, blood rushing from her face. “We better stay here for a few minutes until the men come back.”

She nods and drums her fingers on the table, anxious and agitated. Jacqui places a water bottle down in front of her.

“Thank you,” Beth murmurs, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip.

“Everything seems to be okay,” Jacqui says, her voice steady as she keeps her eyes trained outside. “Except –“

“Merle! Getcha ugly ass out here! Got us some squirrel!”

Beth whips her head up, eyes widening and lips parting. Stumbling to a standing position, she hobbles towards the door of the RV, ignoring Jacqui’s protests. Her knees shake as she climbs down and pushes her way through the crowd of people standing under the awning.

He stands in the middle of camp, his crossbow dangling by the straps from his fingertips, a string of squirrels over his shoulder. Dirt and sweat sit caked onto him like a second skin, just like she expected him to be. His sharp, blue eyes scan over the camp, and settle on her.

She knows she should be running to him, leaping in his arms, crying tears of joy. Professing her love, kissing him senseless. But she wants to savor this moment. Savor how everything has melted around them, savor the miracle that has led her to him. She limps towards him, her fingertips brush his cheek when she’s close enough.

His shudders out a breath, furiously blinking and furrowing his eyebrows. “You – I - Beth?” he breathes, flinching when she touches his face.

She sends him a wobbly smile and nods. “I’m here.” She’s about to pull her hand away when he shrugs the squirrels off his shoulder and cups each side of her jaw with both hands, his eyes gazing into hers.

Something behind his eyes jerks, and his pupils widen in shock. “Oh Beth, oh my God.” His lip quivers and Daryl’s composure breaks, crushing her to his chest and burrowing his face in her hair. He murmurs her name over and over again, his lips in her hair, his hands fist in her tank top.

Burying her face in his shoulder, Beth uses this moment to cry. To let go of her fear, the horror that roils in her stomach, to release any feelings of hopelessness and despair that remain within her. The sensation of getting wrapped up in Daryl’s arms is almost too much. She almost feels like all the death and destruction she had faced was worth it in the end. Beth clings onto him, one arm wrapping around his back, the other up under his arm, her fingertips curling in his short hair.

“Thought you were dead,” he grunts, his voice thick and heavy. “Thought they would’ve killed you in the hospital.” He inhales and shivers, gripping onto her even tighter. “Oh Beth –“

“Shh, shh,” she whispers, cutting him off. When she raises her head from his shoulder, he looks up at her, his eyes as glassy and blue as the Atlantic. “Hi,” she grins, laughing through her tears.

He pauses, blinks, and gives her a tiny smirk. He blinks and his hands squeeze the top of her arms as he inhales raggedly. “Beth, I –“

“I know, I know,” she murmurs, placing a hand on the side of his neck. “But I’m here now.” She gives him a watery smile. “Don’t know why or how I got so lucky, but I’m here now. With you. And I ain’t ever gonna leave.” She leans upward on her tiptoes and kisses his dried, chapped lips softly, reveling in the sensation of being so close to him.

Daryl wraps an arm around her and cups her cheek with the other hand, pulling her close. His lips are hesitant and fumbling, his breath coming in short pants.

A throat clears behind them. Feeling herself flush, Beth abruptly becomes aware of all the attention on them, with their reunion happening in the middle of camp. She reaches down and entwines both hands with Daryl’s and squeezes.

“Daryl, I need to talk to you,” Rick says, approaching them slowly. He looks good, healthy. Beth notices a brightness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

He furrows his eyebrows and drops her hands. “Bout what? Can’t it wait?” Daryl wraps an arm around Beth’s shoulder, pulling her close to his side. He looks around camp again, eyes narrowed. “Where’s Merle?”

“It’s about him,” Shane answers, following closely behind Rick.

Rick’s gaze flickers to Beth’s, then back to Daryl’s. “There was a problem in Atlanta.”

Daryl stiffens. “What happened?” he stiffens, pulling Beth tighter against him. “He dead?”

“No. Not when I was with him a few hours ago,” she says, looking up at him and swallowing the guilt that churns in her stomach.

Daryl looks wildly between the two sheriff’s deputies and Beth. “The hell’s going on?”

“No other easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it,” Rick starts, his hands twitching at his sides. “I was with Beth when we found Glenn and the rest of the group in the city. Long story short, when it was time to leave, I didn’t know it, but Merle was handcuffed to a roof and Beth was getting him out.”

Daryl’s eyes widen in shock and dart between him and Beth. “Let me process this,” he bites, gritting his teeth and removing his arm from Beth’s shoulder and stepping towards Rick. “Stand back Greene. Man, you telling me you handcuffed my brother to a roof? And then you left him and Beth there?!”

“It wasn’t on purpose, there’s no way I would’ve knowingly left Beth –“

“I sure hope it fucking wasn’t!” Daryl growls, clenching his fists. “And the hell’s that supposed to mean? That you’d of left Merle on purpose?!” He pauses, his fingers inching towards the knife on his belt. “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“Rick Grimes.”

“Rick Grimes?” he taunts, stepping even closer to the man. “You wanna tell me why you left the only two people I give a shit about in the middle of Atlanta?! And why my brother’s not here?!”

“Your brother was a danger to us all. So I handcuffed him on a roof, hooked him to a piece of metal, and he was still there when we left,” Rick answers, trying to diffused the situation. “I was with Beth for a while. We both woke up in this mess. Beth knew Merle, and didn’t want to leave him behind. I drove most of us away when shit was hitting the fan. I had no idea Beth and Merle weren’t in the back of the van.”

He snorts. “If that’s supposed to make anything better, it don’t,” Daryl says.

“Daryl,” Beth starts, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m alright. The last time I saw Merle, he was alright."

Inhaling deeply through his nose and blinking quickly, he nods. “What happened?”

“I was carrying a tool box with bolt cutters when I realized he was still on the roof. I made it up there and got him out, and we holed up last night in an office on the other side of the building. Then, this morning, this group of men came in and were headed straight towards us. Merle told me to run while he stayed back and distracted them. I didn’t want to leave him, but I had to,” she explains, voice cracking at the end. “I’m so sorry, Daryl. I knew I couldn’t take on a whole group of men by myself, so I followed his directions here. They were saying horrible things, and I knew Merle could take care of himself, but it still wasn’t the right thing to do – “

“Hey,” he interrupts, his hands wrapping around her wrists and pulling her towards him. “I’m not mad at you. You stayed. And you’re here. That’s what matters.” His eyes flickers up at the two men. “Unlike some people.”

Beth meets his gaze and nods, shutting her eyes and squeezing out her last few tears.

“As for you,” Daryl says, turning around to face Rick and Shane. “Just tell me where the hell you left him.”

“He’ll show you,” Lori says, eyeing Rick. “Ain’t that right?”

Rick gazes at his wife and nods, his stare flickering to the ground. “Gotta make a couple of stops, but we’ll be sure to look for Merle. We’ll leave in a few.”

“Hell yeah, we’re gonna look,” Daryl scoffs and places a hand on the small of Beth’s back. “C’mon.” He leads her away from the group over to a small, red tent on the edge of camp. “Home sweet home,” he says under his breath.

Beth turns and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him flush against her. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispers, smooshing her face into the crook of his neck.

“I gotta. He’s my brother.” His voice hitches slightly. With his hands running up and down her sides, he murmurs, “It’s Merle.”

She pulls back and wipes her eyes, wrists trembling. “I know.” She gives him a watery smile. “I missed you so much.”

His breath stutters and his bottom lip trembles. “Fuck, Beth.” Cupping her jaw, he pulls her close and presses his lips against hers. The kiss is chaste and tentative, yet tender. He handles her as if she’s going to break or disappear at any moment.

Beth reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, her nails lightly scratching the bottom of his scalp. She nips at his lower lip, pulling it gently between hers.

A broken moan escapes Daryl’s chest as he pulls back to kiss up her cheek to her temple to her forehead. “Let’s get you cleaned up, alright?” he murmurs, lowering her arms and taking her hands in his.

“Sorry,” she says, blushing slightly. “Kinda forgot I'm kind of disgusting right now.”

He smirks and pecks her lips lightly. “Been kicking walker ass? C’mere.” Unzipping the tent, he bends down and pulls out a bottle of water. He takes out the red bandanna from his back pocket, takes the bottle, and dampens a corner of the rag. Pulling her down to the ground, he sits Indian style across from her and works on cleaning the blood from the cracks in her palms. His movements are heavy, meticulous. Beth nearly doesn’t bite back a moan at not only the hand massage, but the sensation of him taking care of her.

They sit in silence for a few moments. “Did you go to the farm?” she asks, he voice small.

He’s quiet. “I called after I left the hospital when shit was going down, and no one picked up. Drove to the farm, no one was there. No cars, no one. I figured they had all gotten on the road already to the refugee center. That’s when I picked up Merle, and met up with all these people.”

Beth nods, her chest too hollow to cry. “Do you think they’re dead?” she asks, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Dunno. Hard to say.” He switches to her hand with the cast on it, his fingers and the rag working to clean every line and crevice. “I’m so sorry, Greene.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She inhales, her breath ragged. “Maybe they’re still alive, who knows?”

Daryl doesn’t say anything, but instead grunts and wets the rag again. Beth closes her eyes as he wipes the blood and grime off of her forehead and cheeks. He runs the back of his finger over the stitches in her forehead. “Gonna have to figure out how to get these out,” he says. “Or else they’ll get infected.”

“They’ve been itching like crazy.”

He hums, wiping around the stitches with feather light touches. “Probably almost healed.”

She nods. “If I’d of known I was so gross, I would’ve cleaned myself up,” she says, attempting to lighten the mood.

His intense stare flashes up to her. “I need to – Beth – let me,” he stutters, inhaling a ragged breath. “Thought you were dead. Still don’t think you’re real.”

Beth can practically feel her heart crack as she inches forward on her knees, placing her hands on each side of his face. “I’m real, Daryl. I’m so real.” She pulls him close, letting him press his face into the crook of her neck.

They sit for a few moments, relishing in the quiet sounds of the forest around them. Beth rakes her fingertips up and down his neck lightly, her nails scratching the bottom of his scalp. Daryl’s breathing eventually evens out. He takes one last breath and sits up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

A pair of footsteps interrupt the pair, twigs and leaves cracking with each step. Beth looks up to find Rick cautiously approaching their tent, all decked out in his sheriff’s deputy uniform. He clears his throat awkwardly. “You almost ready to go?”

Daryl stiffens and nods. “Just gimme a sec.” He turns and unzips the ratty tent, holding the polyester door open for her. “C’mon, Greene. Bet your ass is dead tired.”

“You got that right,” she replies, climbing in after giving Rick a tight smile.

“This one’s mine,” Daryl says, clearing ratty flannels off a sleeping bag that sits on top of an air mattress. “It’s not great, but it’ll do.”

Nothing sounds better to Beth than drifting off to sleep surrounding by Daryl’s scent. “It looks absolutely perfect.” She sits on the sleeping bag and pulls off her sneakers and socks, wrinkling her nose as she tosses them to the corner of the tent. Shimmying out of her crusty jeans, she sighs in relief at the sensation of freeing her legs. She glances up towards Daryl. “What?” she asks, giggling.

He tears his heated gaze away from her, and she doesn’t miss how the tips of his ears turn red. “I think you know,” he snorts.

She snickers and pulls her disgusting tank top over her head. “That thing needs to be burned,” she grimaces.

Daryl grunts in agreement. “Here,” he says, handing her a balled up, somewhat clean sleeveless flannel.

“Thank you,” she smiles, leaning over and pecking his lips as she works three of the buttons through their holes. “Now you, Mr. Dixon, go out, get your brother, and come back to me. Alright?”

He nods, pressing his lips to hers quickly. “Get some sleep, Greene. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Beth nods and attempts to swallow her increasing anxiety. “Hey.” She reaches out and places a hand on his calf. “I love you.”

Daryl turns and stares at her for a few seconds before crouching down and kissing her soundly. Beth smiles against his lips, relief licking at the edge of her senses. “Sleep, Greene,” he murmurs before pulling away.

He crawls out of the tent and zips the flap up. She listens to his footsteps crunch away from the tent. Exhaling shakily, she unzips the sleeping bag and lays down on top of it, not bothering to crawl inside. It’s too damn hot for that. Despite her worry, Beth falls asleep as soon as her head relaxes into the pillow.

…

A persistent rumbling in Beth’s stomach wakes her hours later. Feeling as if her innards are gnawing at themselves, she blinks her eyes open. Late afternoon light filters through the tent, creating a soft, dusky glow. She groans, arching her back and stretching her arms above her head. Her limbs are heavy and her head feels groggy as she blinks the sleep out of her eyes.

She sits up, squinting around the tent as her eyes adjust to the light. Someone’s left a pair of clean jeans folded under a pale green tank top and a bottle of water at the foot of the air mattress. Beth smiles inwardly as she reaches over and grabs the water, taking a few deep gulps. A faint murmur of chatter wafts through the open netting at the top of the tent, and, as much as she wants to stay in the tent and sleep for a while longer, she needs to get up and eat something.

She shimmies into the jeans and light green tank top, which both fit well, if not a little too big. Grimacing, she pulls on her dirty socks and sneakers. She would borrow a pair of Daryl’s socks, but knowing him they wouldn’t be much cleaner. Carrying the bottle of water, she unzips the tent and crawls out.

The camp bustles with everyone helping prepare for dinner. Wringing her hands that tingle with nerves, Beth walks over to Glenn, who’s kneeling next to the RV. “Hi Glenn,” she says, “Need help with anything?”

He glances over his shoulder and grins up at her. “Hey! How’re you feeling?”

“A lot better! Although I do need to find out who’s lending me their clothes,” she replies, tugging at the edge of the tank top. “It feels so nice not to be wearing something that’s covered in blood.”

“I bet! I think that’s Lori’s top, and I’m not sure whose jeans those belong to,” he says with a shrug. “I’m good right now, I’d go ask her if she needs anything.” He nods towards the willowy brunette across camp. “She’s usually the one running this shindig.”

Beth nods. “Thanks Glenn!” She beams at him and makes her way across camp. Beth takes a deep breath, and exhales. This relaxed atmosphere is a pleasant change of scenery from the previous 48 hours of constant anxiety. “Hi Lori,” she says, reaching the fire pit. “Thank you so much for the tank top, you have no idea how unbelievably good it feels to be wearing something clean.”

“Of course! Anytime – how are you feeling?” she asks.

“Better. Really sore and tired, but a lot better.” Beth smiles. “Is there anything I can help out with? And do you know who I need to thank for the jeans?”

“I’m pretty sure those are Amy’s. She’s Andrea’s sister, probably in the RV or something,” Lori replies and purses her lips thoughtfully. “Do you know how to gut a fish by any chance?”

She nods. “I grew up on a farm, I’d be ashamed if I couldn’t,” she laughs.

“Well thank God,” Lori smiles, “I was hoping someone would. I don’t wanna touch dead fish with a ten foot pole.”

Beth laughs, and soon finds herself sitting with Andrea and Amy, one hand covered in fish guts and the other fumbling with a knife. She feels awkward at first, as if she’s intruding on some well-deserved sister time, but they make her feel more than welcome.

“I can’t believe you really made it all the way from the city to here by yourself,” Amy remarks with poorly veiled awe.

“Me either,” Beth snorts. “But I’m sure glad I did.”

“I bet,” Andrea says, raising her eyebrows and glancing at Amy. “Haven’t ever seen Daryl like that.”

Warmth creeps up into her cheeks as she shrugs. “Guess it was fate, me waking up and finding my way here. Feels like a miracle.”

“It is!” Amy assures. “How’d you two meet, anyways?”

“Oh you know.” Beth makes a noncommittal noise, wiping her knife clean before starting on another. “Before all this, I was at community college and waiting tables at a diner down the road. He showed up one day, became a regular, and well,” she shrugs one shoulder, biting back a smile, “I think you can figure out the rest.”

“That’s so romantic!” Amy sighs dreamily. “I should’ve been a waitress. Working in retail was not fun. I kind of miss it, to be honest. I’d rather deal with rude teenagers than dead people.”

“Waitressing was tough, but a job’s a job, I guess,” she replies. “Where are you two from? You don’t sound like you’re from Georgia.”

“We’re not, we’re from Florida.” Andrea wipes her hands on a rag, grimacing at the fishy stench. “We were on a road trip and got stuck in Atlanta when this all went down. Dale was nice enough to pick us up and help us out.”

“Yeah, and a day later we found Glenn. Picked him up, got stuck on the freeway going into the city. That’s where we met everyone else and came here,” Amy explains. “We got really lucky. I don’t even wanna think about what would’ve happened if Dale didn’t pick us up.” She glances up from her knife and the fish, raising the back of her hand to shield her eyes from the bright setting sun. “Hey Shane!”

“Evenin’, ladies,” Shane says, sauntering up behind Beth with a young boy at his side. “How’s it coming?”

“Slowly but surely,” Andrea replies, gesturing to the few cleaned fish between her and her sister. “Except for Beth over there.”

“It’s what comes with growing up on a farm,” she says, smiling at the younger boy. “You’re Carl, right? You look just like your dad.”

“Yeah,” he replies, his eyes peering into the bucket of fish bones and innards. “You can gut a fish? Can I watch?”

“Sure!” Beth focuses on cleaning her pile of fish as best as she can, dropping the meat into a tin container to fry. She lets herself fade into the background, listening to the conversations and watching the other members of the camp.

She likes Amy a lot, her bubbly personality reminds Beth of her friends in her classes. She can tell that both Shane, like Andrea, is a hardass when he needs to be. She meets Carol and Sophia, who are both kind but skittish, their eyes constantly flickering back to their tent. Beth smiles at Jim, who looks out of it, despite the commotion around him. Jacqui and Glenn are both more than happy to see her up and moving around camp. Beth knows that they’re both good people despite the previous day’s circumstances.

As the sky darkens from bright blue to a murky purple, the knot in her gut tightens. Daryl had been gone all day – where was he? She remembers how ornery walkers got when the sun set, and – no matter how adept they were – five men couldn’t take on hordes of the dead on their own.

Instead of worrying, Beth busies herself with helping prepare the fish fry. Her stomach rumbles at the scent of fresh meat cooked over an open fire. When someone passes a plate to her, she hardly holds herself back from moaning at the buttery fish melting on her tongue.

“Man, that’s good,” Shane sighs between the sounds of forks clanking on plates. “I miss this.”

“I gotta ask you man,” Morales starts, looking to Dale, “it’s been driving me crazy.”

“What?” Dale replies, laughter in his voice.

“That watch,” he gestures.

Dale twists the watch on his wrist so that the face is upwards. “What’s wrong with my watch?”

“I see you everyday – same time – winding that thing, like a village priest saying Mass,” he teases lightheartedly.

“I’ve been wondering this myself,” Jacqui pipes in, playfully eyeing the older man.

“I’m missing the point.” Dale grins.

“Unless I’ve misread the signs, the world seems to have come to an end,” she says, eyebrows raised. “At least hit a speed bump for a good long while.”

“And there’s you,” Morales continues, “Everyday, winding that stupid watch.”

“Time – it’s important to keep track, isn’t it? The days at least! Don’t you think, Andrea?” he argues, looking towards the blonde woman.

Andrea laughs awkwardly, glancing down at her plate.

“I like what a father said to his son when he gave him a watch that’d been handed down for generations. He said _I give you a mausoleum of all hope and desire, which will fit your individual needs no better than it did mine, or my father’s before me. I give it to you, not that you may remember time, but that you may forget it for a moment now and then and not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it,_ ” he explains, a smile expanding on his features.

“You are so weird,” Amy says, breaking the pregnant pause.

Beth laughs lightly. “That was Faulkner, right?”

Dale beams. “It was! My paraphrasing was off, but yes, that was Faulkner.”

She grins and sits back in her chair, sipping at her bottle of water. The fish sits heavily in her stomach, causing her eyelids to droop slightly.

“Where are you going?” Andrea asks when Amy stands up from her seat.

“I have to pee! Geez, you try to be discreet around here,” she scoffs and makes her way towards the RV. Beth’s lips quirk up into a grin, the sisterly bickering reminding her of her and Maggie.

She wonders where Maggie is now. Maybe she found a group of people to get out of the city with. Maybe she’s somewhere close with people like the ones she’s found. Or maybe she’s just a –

No. She doesn’t let herself go there. Beth exhales and forces herself to focus on the quiet, fireside conversation.

That is, until a shriek pierces the air.

Beth whips her head towards the RV, her mouth falling open in shock when she sees a walker biting into Amy’s forearm. Panic seizes her heart when she notices dozens of walkers emerging from the trees behind them, and even more stumbling over from behind the RV.

Her shock shatters when Shane yells, “Everybody – DOWN!” Beth ducks as shots fire overhead, shells clinking on the ground. She gropes around for a weapon, unable to find anything but rocks from the fire pit.

Beth doesn’t see the walker until it’s almost too late. With its arms outstretched, it staggers down towards her crouched position. Grabbing a large rock from the top of the pit and holding it with two hands, she smacks it up on its face over and over again. Blood and dead tissue rain down on her chest and neck, but eventually the edge of the rock cuts into its brain. It falls on her legs, and she scrambles out from underneath it, heart hammering in her chest.

She’s never felt more defenseless than now. Her eyes widen in horror when she sees walkers ripping into some of the people who she was just sitting next to. Beth knows the images of the dead attacking those right in front of her will stick with her for a long time coming. Shane’s voice seems far away, but she follows his instructions and stumbles towards the RV.

When four different gunshots pierce the air, Beth almost cries in relief. From the trees emerge Rick, Glenn, T-Dog, and Daryl. With their numbers and firepower, the small herd gets put down in a matter of seconds.

“Beth!” Daryl yells, after slamming a walker’s skull into the ground with the butt of his rifle. She staggers over to him, half blinded by tears.

She gasps into his ear, her words jumbled and incoherent. He crushes her to his chest, one arm around her waist and the other on the rifle. Looking up at him, she notices he seems dazed and in shock.

“Thought… thought that was you,” he breathes raggedly, gesturing halfheartedly towards Amy on the ground, her blonde hair fanning out underneath her.

“No, no no no,” Beth sobs, tugging on his sleeveless thermal. “I’m right here, I’m fine.” She can’t even look at Amy, the girl with familiar naivety in her eyes bleeding out on the dirt.

"Jesus," he whispers, turning so that his back is towards the awful scene. His grip tightens as he hides his face in her hair.

A sickening sense of wrongness floods over Beth. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of it. She buries her nose into his shoulder and squeezes her eyes shut, attempting to ignore Andrea’s anguished sobs.

It doesn’t work. No one sleeps that night.

**Author's Note:**

>  _This is the dead land_  
>  _This is cactus land_  
>  _Here the stone images_  
>  _Are raised, here they receive_  
>  _The supplication of a dead man’s hand_  
>  _Under the twinkle of a fading star._  
>  \- The Hollow Men, TS Eliot
> 
> Thank you for reading! Don't be shy - I love kudoses and comments!


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